CAN’T hold it together

I knew I’d be emotional but this is ridiculous! I’m moody, irritable, excited and tearful - all in one big scary bundle. Poor Craig took me to the cinema three days ago only for me to blubber through the entire showing. I turned up with a full face of make-up (liquid eyeliner etc) trying to look remotely glam for Craig. The film starred Seth Rogan (Knocked Up, Pineapple Express), so I’m expecting something funny and targeted at the” beer lout” generation - How wrong was I??? I’m restricted on what I can say as it was a preview screening (meaning the audience were tasked with road-testing the movie; we were made to sign disclosures, the security guards resembled MI5 agents, and Craig was ‘politely’ asked to hand in his iPhone before entering the auditorium doors). All I can say is that I left the Vue in Reading looking like a member of Kiss. My cream cardigan was stained black as I was forced to use it to wipe away my tears (too scared was I to ask agents A, B, E and F if I could get some loo roll from the ladies).

But tears turned to frustration a few days later when Friday’s episode of A Place in the Sun turned out to be a repeat of Thursday’s! What was More 4′s production team thinking??? I went so far as to type ‘More 4 complaints’ into Google before I realised how stupid I was being!

Not complaining baby - you’re worth it x

CAN’T stay awake

As this rate I’ll be lying in bed for the whole 9 months and being fed through a drip! I know the experts say this fatigue will subside by the second trimester, but personally, I’m doubtful. I’m in bed by 9pm every night! I’ve missed Educating Essex, The Eviction of Dale Farm, Downton Abbey - and a whole host of ‘educational’ programming I’ve been waiting for all week. Why do the terrestrial channels tease us by putting such gems on past the watershed? My dongle credit is dwindling as I’m forced to turn to BBC iPlayer (and the like) to catch up!

Last night I was forced to call out to Craig to plead for a glass of water; I had no energy to even get out of bed and fetch myself one. I’m lucky he’s so good-humoured and sweet. If the situation was reversed, I’d be lifting up the bed covers to see if he still had legs of his own! Speaking of the man of my dreams… Craig ordered the pregnancy books I wanted! I must have been in Waterstones for hours on Thursday - wading through the millions on sale; I figured there must be an ideal bed companion that would teach me enough to earn an honorary degree in obstetrics - the amount of time I’m spending in bed, there has to be some good to come out of it! My list of requirements was therefore exhaustive - I wanted pictures, I wanted diagrams, I wanted daily progress reports, I wanted medical jargon… a tome of a pregnancy manual. Having narrowed it down to two (ISBN numbers scrawled on the back of an old receipt), I came home and trawled price comparison websites to find the best price. Good old Amazon came through. I logged in as Craig, added them to his shopping basket and waited for him to tell me off for accessing his account. Imagine how my heart melted when he came into the bedroom last night and whispered to his sleepy and barely deserving girlfriend that he’d dived straight in and ordered them… I love you Craig xx

CAN’T smoke!!!! Argh!!!!

I don’t want to complain too bitterly about this. It’s been consistently reiterated to me about the harm it causes to the unborn baby; increased risk of SID, developmental problems, suppressed appetite leading to low birth weights etc. I know it’s wrong, I know they’re cancerous, I know I should quit for myself aswell as baby… but it’s a 15 year habit that’s proving SOOO hard to kick!

Needing some medicinal support, I went (head hung in shame) to the NHS Stop Smoking stall in the Broad Street Mall outside TK Maxx and plead my case to the advisor. I was somewhat optimistically hoping that overnight a new miraculous alliance between science and faith had occurred, and that the NHS now recognised hypnotism as a tried, proven and humane way of curing the afflicted. But of course they would ever make it that easy. I was offered gum, an inhaler, lozenges, even nasal sprays… surely one of these solutions would work for me! But no. When I mentioned my pregnancy, this huge choice of nicotine replacement therapies was diminished to just one. The dreaded PATCHES. How could these flimsy plasters possibly reduce my craving? Just how does said nicotine hit enter my bloodstream and replace my beloved physical cigarette? And (if I’m truthful) how can it possibly be this easy to quit?! If the answer has really been staring me in the face since the naughty’s (remember those adverts with impossibly attractive female jogger karate-kicking human sized cigarettes out of her way) - then how have I wasted thousands of £’s on Mayfair Superking’s ALL these years????! BUT acknowledging this is for the health of my unborn, I pessimistically collected my little prescription headed to Superdrug.

Well… It turns out these patches are genius. I can now stand next to smoker’s in a pub without wanting to rip their cigarette’s out of their hands. I can now make it through the day on 2 cigarette’s (I’ve promised to do away with these remaining little crutches in one week’s time). I can now wake up and not search frantically for a lighter down the back of the sofa. These tiny patches are AMAZING. Their effectiveness isn’t my gripe. What irritates me is the following: They AREN’T truly translucent, and they AREN’T even remotely waterproof as promised. If you were to lift up my sleeve during the day you’ll find a frayed and yellow patch barely clinging to my skin. From afar you’d be forgiven for thinking I have a patch of leprosy.

CAN’T drink!

This is considerably easier for me than not being able to smoke. I’m not as big a drinker as I was before I came home from London and Craig and I only usually drink at the weekends. But when you tell someone you can’t do something, you want it all the more. I’m actually beginning to resent Guinness and Carling for putting on television ads during the Rugby World Cup schedule. Nevermind the fact that I can’t actually stand Guinness. Just stop with the adverts!

And the dreaded weekend… this being my first full weekend knowing I am pregnant. I am literally so jealous of Craig! I know he’s not deliberately drinking in front of me and he has every right to enjoy his weekend after working so hard to provide for us during the week - but I want a beer too! Drinking your body weight in Diet Coke watching the football at the pub, just simply isn’t the same. And Craig is simply rubbish as pretending to be sympathetic and sober. I know every single nuance of his personality; If he’s tipsy, I know it. I’d actually rather he came home stumbling through the door so I could laugh at him and pat myself on the back for being infinitely better off.

I guess I need to get used to this as I’m reluctant to drink around baby after he or she arrives anyway. I hate seeing new mums in pubs downing wine with their child in their arms - it makes me so angry.

CAN’T dye my hair!

At first I thought this was a mistake. When I picked up my bottle of ‘Nice and Easy’ by Clairol yesterday morning, I couldn’t believe they were advising pregnant women against using it! Why? So confused was I, I Googled it. This made my heart sink:

… One study suggested that it could cause babies to develop the cancer neuroblastoma. This is a rare childhood cancer that affects the nervous system and other tissues… It’s possible that a few of the chemical compounds in hair dyes could cause birth defects…

http://www.babycentre.co.uk/pregnancy

Apparently the above risks decrease as you enter the second trimester. This is because during the first 12 weeks the developing brain generates between 50 and 100 thousand new cells per second. The hair dye could, in theory, enter the bloodstream through my scalp, and travel to baby!

WHAT????????! Come on now. Really????? I have dark hair - greys show and I’m about to start a new job. I find this whole rule pretty incredible and there’s conflicting advice everywhere you look. I’ll admit to ignoring this one. Sorry baby but I just don’t believe it.

CAN’T feed my cat!

So my GP advised me against feeding the cat or emptying his litter tray; chores that his mum has performed for all of his life. Again, I couldn’t understand this so turned to Google:

Toxoplasmosis caught during pregnancy can cause an infection in your unborn baby resulting in eye problems and brain abnormalities. Toxoplasmosis is usually caught through eating raw, undercooked or cured meat but it can also be caught through contact with cat faeces and, in rare cases, cat saliva

http://www.babycentre.co.uk/pregnancy

Okay, so there does seem to be considerable medical research supporting this one. In fairness, I’m happy to go along with it too. The smell of Billy’s food makes me feel ill and I wasn’t looking forward to the re-introduction of a litter tray in the new flat. The problem is that I can’t tell Billy about the change in routine; he’s learnt many things in his short life, but the ability to speak English isn’t one of them. So he literally whines, paces and chases my feet ALL day whilst Craig is at work. He’s turned into a lunatic. As if to fully articulate his frustration, he’s become fussy about his food too. No longer is Purina or Iams enough for Billy. Now he likes a variety of wet and dry food and it’s a guessing game as to which he wants on a given day. One day, he wants a Whiskas tin, the next he fancies Felix’s offering. This is literally doing my head in.