Hello my long lost friends. Just when you thought I’d thrown in the towel (or died) I’m back to regale you with more scintillating anecdotes that you probably didn’t want to know about my life.
What the fuck have I been doing for the last year and a half? A few things, I started a new job, moved house a couple of times, went on some sweet holidays, drank far too much (standard, I hear you say), enjoyed the novelty of being in a relationship I actually really want to be in. But the numero uno thing I’ve been doing is trying to make a baby (well not just me obviously, I haven’t been sitting on my own with a turkey baster or anything).
And fuck me sideways, it’s been a rollercoaster (figure of speech, far too vanilla for fucking sideways at my ripe old age). I wasn’t completely naïve, I was aware that I’m pretty much classed as a Geriatric now and it may not happen straight away, which it didn’t. We ‘tried’ loosely for a couple of months and nothing, then had a few months break during which we went to Bali which was off the hook. Then resumed and a couple of months later hey presto, a bun was officially in the oven! Even though we had planned it, we were both shook. The first words out of my dear other half’s mouth were not any of the words I had long dreamt of like ‘This is the happiest moment of my life’ or ‘I couldn’t think of a more amazing mother for my child’. Nope. They were in fact: ‘Well I’d better get the fuck back to work then’. *Eyeroll* Anyway, we’d more or less got our heads around the idea (just) and at about 9 weeks I found out that we’d had a miscarriage. Now, I don’t have enough word count to adequately get across what this is like. Nor is it solely what I want this post to be about, but it bloody deserves a good mention. The one huge thing I learnt from going through this shit-fest is that it can either be an incredibly lonely and isolating experience, or it can be something that brings about crazy levels of connectedness, love and support. For me it was both. At first I didn’t tell anyone because I felt ashamed, like somehow my body had let me down and I’d failed as a woman (how fucked up is that). Then, slowly I started to talk about it and the more I did, the more people shared their own experiences (and believe me when I say there are SO SO SO many more people who have gone through this than you’d ever think). Because of this, I felt so much less alone and stopped feeling like a freak of nature and decided that wallowing in self pity was not something I particularly wanted to entertain for too long. Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty much a given and potentially a necessary part of the grieving process and I absolutely did wallow. I wallowed the shit out of wallowing. But after a while it’s not conducive to good mental health so I put on some clothes, reacquainted myself with personal hygiene and got back out into the big wide world. Now, I’m not going to pretend that I took life by the balls and was nothing but positivity and optimism because that would be a bare-faced lie and let’s face it, no one does that. It took me ages to feel like myself again, I lost a tonne of confidence and even going out for a drink with my closest friends seemed like an insurmountable task, but I did it (slowly) and bit by bit started to feel like me again. Looking back, that experience has given me one of the most precious things in life. The realisation that I have someone who not only loves me unconditionally but who is willing to put his feelings to one side without a second thought to make sure that I’m ok. I cannot begin to put into words how incredible it is to have someone who, at your worst times makes you feel safe and loved and can (unbelievably) make you laugh. Like actually. I was in hospital in my sweet sexy gown and my hair net had come down my face, making my eyebrows stick out. Rob walked in and casually said ‘what’s up Ming the Conqueror’. I laughed so hard I was in pain and the hospital staff started giving me stink-eye. So as far as silver linings go, that’s a pretty damn awesome one.
Anyway….fast forward 6 months and I’m 16 weeks pregnant with our baby girl! (One million smiley-faced emojis). I’m straight up terrified of course and pretty much every little twinge and ache means there’s something wrong and I’m immediately on the phone to my midwife (poor bitch). But I can honestly say I have never been happier. The minute we saw our baby’s heart beat and her little body wriggling around like crack-addict (I’m not exaggerating, they move a LOT – at one point she rolled over and promptly stuck out her ass at us – defo her father’s daughter) was the best moment EVER. I whinge about the ongoing and undignified dramas of pregnancy such as nausea, full body eczema, excessive gas and bloating, bleeding gums and constipation to name a few. But in reality I love it (yaay hemorrhoids!!!) and wouldn’t change a thing. And guys….my boobs are massive!!! This is legit the moment I’ve been waiting my whole flat-chested life for. I can’t stop looking at them. I think even Rob is tiring of me waving them in his face and declaring ‘LOOK HOW BIG MY TITTIES ARE HONEY’. And before you start, I know that this doesn’t last and as one of my friends described, they ‘shrivel and look similar to one of those lovely free-hanging African ladies’. But let me have my moment ok? Also being able to shove food in my face at an alarming rate of knots without feeling the tiniest shred of remorse or self-loathing is incredibly liberating. Rob wouldn’t say the same as we are currently sitting on the exact same weight-gain trajectory (sorry not sorry honey).
But yes, all in all it’s been a journey and I know it’s far from over. Even writing this, my stupid brain is playing tricks on me and making me think that I’m jinxing things by publishing this. I think I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’ll be varying levels of psychotic for the rest of this pregnancy (and maybe my life).
For all the women (and men) out there who have faced struggles and even for those who haven’t, you’re 100% not alone. If you take nothing else from this, remember that.
Nicole (and nugget)