Preggersland

Its a very strange thing to be pregnant. Sure, its the most natural thing in the world. Women have been doing it for ages. Most of them seem to be quite good at it. I never thought of it happening to me, in fact I was thoroughly disinterested in the whole idea. But I believe that children choose their parents and I think our young lady is very strong willed and wasn’t about to take “I quite like my lifestyle thank you very much” as an answer. So here we are.

There is a lot that goes on with this whole making a human lark that makes a lady (or me) very happy. I get some lovely hormones that make that feeling you get when you hold a puppy, kitten, or tasty leg of turkey just happen by magic. I also get clear glowing skin, healthy and fast growing nails and hair and a very healthy appetite (to be fair, I’ve always had that. Now I just get to listen to it). I get to buy little playsuits with the tiniest feet and the littlest beanies to match. I get to give a child the absolute best father a little girl could possibly have and watch that lovely man fall in love with her even before she arrives.

However..

What the hell is the go with waking up feeling like you’ve been kicked in the hips and punched in the shoulders? And yes. I do have a pregnancy pillow. And sleep with a pillow between my legs. And why do ads for toilet paper that involve puppies make me cry? Would a jury convict me if I answer the call my hormones put out to kill the next customer service expert who pisses me off? Why do women need to tell me their horrific and graphic birthing stories? On which planet is it considered socially acceptable to walk up to a stranger and talk about ¬†your vagina, your haemorrhoids or your libido?

I’ve been given quite a lot of advice lately. Some of it I even asked for. So here’s some for you if you’re ever chatting to a preggers lady. Some days she will feel blissed out like a little buddha meditating on the miracle of new life. And other days she might feel sick and weak and in pain and scared that she’s going to fuck up the life of a precious little being just by being herself. And other days are somewhere in between. So try not to start a sentence with “you must be feeling..” – just ask her how she is. And don’t freak out if she isn’t turning cartwheels. It can be difficult with sore hips.