Pregnancy: The Dark Side (Part One)

It may come as some surprise to many of you out there, but being pregnant is not always the fun and games it appears to be. Below is part one (as no doubt the next few months will lend to a more complete list) of Heather’s negatives of pregnancy. Suprisingly, this list took about 20 minutes to spew out, before I decided to stop writing it as I didn't want to make myself too depressed...

• The loss of cuddles. There comes a point when a normal cuddle on your partner’s lap starts to resemble the movement of heavy machinery. The owner of the lap has to prepare himself (spread legs to distribute impending weight, brace arms to lessen impact) whilst trying to guide the enormous arse to the right place whilst saying ‘eeeeeeasy does it’. An obligatory moment of both parties regaining the breath after the successful lowering of the pregnant lady is to be expected.

• Getting Up. From anywhere. Be it from a cuddle, bed, the toilet or a seat on the tube. At some point anything resembling stomach muscles disappear and you have to rely on bicep strength to haul or push yourself up. Recently we moved my tv couch to under the spiral staircase so that I can haul myself upright, stair-by-stair, a la monkey style.

• The loss of ‘hustle’. Only last week I found myself unable to even entertain the idea of running for a train that ordinarily would have been my bitch.

• Your ex-boyfriend takes delight in referring to your cute ‘penguin waddle’

• Strangers, particularly women, just stare at you. And I mean staaaaaaare.

• People who say ‘Oh! I bet you are due pretty soon’ and then upon being told it is actually 3 months away try to recover by saying ‘Oh! Aren’t you big then!?. These people are crossed of the xmas card list.

• Tiredness.

• Well dressed people and the fashion pages of magazines become objects of spite.

• Sharp Corners are bigger, small gaps are miniscule and for some reason you keep opening doors into your belly

• You become obsessed with other people’s babies. Need to be stared at for a variety of reasons, mostly to make a mental comparison of how much cuter yours will be.

• The magnetism that develops between your belly and anything you are eating. Such an unbroken daily run has this magnetism had, that at work they have offered to buy me a bib.

• Public Transport in London (tube and bus). 95% full of selfish wankers.

• The ‘Any Cravings?’ Question. It’s old.

• Inability to play the guitar. Especially painful as I was so close to getting that recording contract.

• Uncontrollable body systems. Many to inappropriate to detail (for example – Dave now calls me ‘Foggie Foghorn’). A more socially acceptable one is Hiccupping. For no reason, whatsoever, you are able to release a single, ear-shatteringly loud hiccup. Normally during a meeting.

• That deciding whether it is ‘Good Morning’ or ‘Good Afternoon’ is the least of your concerns when answering the phone at work. Your name and where you are becomes an increasingly difficult concept to relay when put on the spot.

• Low cupboards of pans and the bottom draws on the fridge. Require sitting on the ground for proper access.

• Something akin to fur covering your belly.

• 10 stairs literally leave you breathless for 5 minutes.

• Food restrictions. I expect a crate of pate and cheeses upon my expulsion of the child.

• The ‘Are you exercising?’ question. No. Only my jaw.

• You become obsessed with every pram which is pushed by you. The make, the suspension, how easy they are manoeuvring it through the shop etc.

• Pubs become pointless. Unless sitting in a corner and glaring jealously at all the people drinking beer is your idea of fun.

• And if you do go to a pub, the smell of smoke that imbues your hair and clothes and lungs is sickening. So you lose all cool and become THAT person who bemoans pub smoke.

• When people ask you what name you are thinking of half will reply with a rather depressing ‘Oh. That’s interesting’ or ‘Oh yes. That’s very common now’. Common is not a big deal, there is a reason why good names like William and Jack exist and why parents naming their kid Zububurina deserve scorn.

• Thigh burn. Like carpet burn, but done by thigh.

• The whole business of nesting. Whilst it is nice to have a defrosted freezer and the knowledge that there is no dust behind the dishwasher - when you start turning down offers to hang out with friends in preference of organising your partners collection of single black socks, it has gone too far.

• The gradual reduction of places you are able to go. Anything that does not have the promise of a seat at quick notice is out.

• Having intimate knowledge of what the skin in your belly-button really looks like.

• Those cute little ‘butterfly’ movements of the baby morph into constant and at times painful kung-fu kicks.

• Partners who will never go through what you are going through, yet have the nerve to say that if they did they imagine it would be a doddle. (Note: only applicable to certain, hard-arse-attitude partners)

• Everything can be really normal and dandy, but then you can make a movement you have done a thousand times before, only to have to stop in absolute agony as your back click out of place, and scream as you move through the position to safety.

• That you become fanatically interested in other mother’s birth stories

• People you don’t know touch your belly. And you have to pretend like it’s fine.

• Two words: Pigment Moustache