Ahhhh… mango, mango, mango. And maybe a few olives. It’s week 11 of the pregnancy and the nausea has evolved from being a constant, background sensation to being absent, until I smell, see, or think about cooked food – when it surges back. Am totally repulsed by the thought of a hot dinner, in particular fried onions and meat (bleurgh). My poor husband has been pandering to me and we spent an hour shivering in our house with all the doors open to rid the rooms of the smell of a meat stew he had lovingly but misguidedly taken the initiative to prepare. Today I’ve just eaten fresh fruit and salad roughage, which is good because unfortunately my desire for chocolate hasn’t wained at all. As soon as I taste a square of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk I’m like a shark that’s detected blood and proceed to inhale the rest of a 200gram bar in a matter of minutes like a Labrador. Jake (husband) is concerned about the lack of meat I’m consuming, but my friend (who gave birth a few months ago) says you crave steaks in the third trimester, so I’ll make it up then. For now I just want delicious fruit and green leaves.
Other strange pregnancy observations (that probably no one wants to read about) are that I keep doing loads of burps ( I usually only do a handful of burps a year – honestly). And I keep waking up dribbling on my pillow. Rank.
Feeling grotty and frumpy as haven’t exercised much over the Christmas period. I’m back to work on Thursday which entails an hour walk there and back which will get me back into shape and hopefully more energised.
I went to have most of the surface area of my body waxed and preened today, so I’m feeling marginally more glam. I have my eye on a number of indulgent looking massages and facials on their price list which I’m going to treat myself to later on in the pregnancy, seeing as I’ve already saved about a thousand pounds not drinking alcohol in restaurants (exaggeration, probably).
I don’t have any kind of pregnancy belly yet, I’m just getting a thick, podgy middle and love handles. I can’t wait until my bump pops out. We are going on a family holiday to Tenerife in May and I want to show it off in my bikini if my belly button doesn’t look too unsightly.
So, it’s New Year’s Eve tonight and regretfully Jake and I are spending it apart. Before I fell pregnant we’d intended on going to see his family in Canterbury for New Year as we stayed at my folks for Xmas, but I’m just not up to it. His family are a party family – something which I usually relish but right now is completely at odds with the way I feel: delicate, protective of my body, tired and emotional. Nights with Jake’s family go on into the small hours and involve a lot of wine drinking, cigarette smoking, singing, looking at rude videos on You Tube and usually a booze fuelled argument between any combination of himself, his mum or his sister (always resolved and forgotten in the morning). So we agreed that he would go on his own as I really didn’t want him staying in with me and David Attenborough, perhaps feeling resentful. And I am definitely better off here on the sofa watching The Blue Planet, eating mango.