Breaking the news

I was only mildly flipping out about telling the family, as I knew they would all be very excited. It was more a question of exactly what to say. We decided to tell my mum and dad first and then tell my brother and sister once the kids had gone to bed. It went almost to plan.

My brother was already there when we arrived but fortunately he took the dogs out shortly after we got there so I told my mum to stop hoovering and my dad to stop grating a horse radish.
'How important is it?'
I considered this briefly and replied 'very'. Then I said I was pregnant and there were hugs all round. My dad congratulated my husband, which I found somewhat annoying, it's not just proof of masculinity and it's me who's got to grow the thing inside me!

I had initially planned to tell bro and sis pretty much as soon as her kids had gone to bed but she came back down in a foul mood so I thought we would all just play Absolute Balderdash for a while to cheer her up. Then they started smoking. I put up with one cigarette but as my unease and discomfort grew I realised I had to intercede.

'Umm, I didn't quite mean to tell you like this but can you stop smoking please because I'm pregnant.'

Not exactly the words I would have chosen, but hey. There were more hugs, and excitement, and offerings of advice and admonishings for not having said anything sooner.

Then there was more Absolute Balderdash.

Then as my sister and her husband got progressively more and more drunk, they hugged me more and more and kept whispering things to me and telling me to ignore their other half because they were drunk. V amusing.

There has been a lot of cheese already that I am not allowed to eat. I think this very unfair. But on the plus side, the whole pregnant thing has given me a free pass to go and have little naps when I'm tired, which is ace.

I'm back to work on Tuesday, though, and I don't intend to tell anyone there for a while yet so I almost definitely won't be allowed to vanish off and have a little sleep, which is a great shame.

Nor can I comfort myself with stinky cheese.

Pregnant

Well, three positive pregnancy tests is fairly definitive. I had my first symptom the other day - I was sitting watching tv and hubby told me I'd gone very red in the face. I was getting a pregnancy flush - made me feel actually preggers, which was quite exciting.

I went to see the doctor's yesterday. It was rubbish. I kind of knew it would be, having read up on first doctor visits. She asked me if I had taken a pregnancy test, and if I was happy about it, and then got me to fill in some forms and that was pretty much it! No test, no blood pressure, nothing. She did say I could ask questions but generally, it was a bit pants. Other than that I can now say I am six weeks pregnant (!) and am due on August 20. Flaming Nora!

After going to the docs, I bought another pregnancy test (an expensive brand name one with a digital readout) and I sneakily weed on it at home and it came up trumps again, saying pregnant and also that I conceived more than three weeks ago. Get me!

Rather inconveniently, hubby had been off work because of snow (none here, but masses at his work) and it was becoming increasingly difficult to do subtle pregnancy research without telling him what I was doing. So, after much internal wrestling, I wrapped the test up (the flash one) and told him I was giving him an early Christmas present.

I think he thought it was a joke to begin with, but then he was excited - I don't think it has really sunk in for either of us yet. But he has been fetching and carrying for me left right and centre, which is of course how it should be.

I'm going to break it to the rest of the family on Christmas Day...

Second test

Well, I decided I would actually wee on the stick this time, you know, to make sure I was properly following the results.

As I anticipated, it wasn't terribly easy. I didn't wee on my hand - but I did wee on the results window, which the instructions say you are NOT SUPPOSED TO DO. It didn't actually say how this would affect the efficacy of the test though, but I assume I should not pay too much heed to it.

It came out preggers again though...

I have not slept well since the first test - probably largely because I haven't told my husband yet and have embarked on a slightly tangled web of deceit. I just want to get the doc's big thumbs up before I get him too excited. My plan is to wrap the positive test up and present it to him on Christmas Day - cheesy, n'est-ce pas?

Anyway, I've got an appointment with the doc tomorrow. I can't believe this is happening so fast - it's scary but exciting. It keeps bringing up stupid questions tho - I was going to buy some new salsa shoes as my old ones are wearing through, but is there much point, am I okay to continue salsaing my ass off? Presumably for a while but maybe not when I'm the size of a whale. And we talked vaguely about moving before a baby arrives as our bathroom is about as small as I am - I guess that plan is going to have to kick into gear really quickly.

On the plus side, I read quickly about things to avoid in pregnancy last night and it looks like I've got a reprieve from emptying the cat litter - could carry the rare but v nasty toxoplasmosis. Oh yeah! Of course, when I tell my husband, it will stretch from not emptying the cat litter to not emptying any of the bins. There have to be some advantages to being up the duff other than having vastly swollen funbags.

Anyway, let's see what the doc says tomorrow. As my second test should probably be discounted, it is still entirely possible that test one was a false positive and it is for this reason I'm keeping schtum until I get confirmation.

Holy crap

I couldn't sleep last night and I had two dreams where I took the test and it was positive.

So at about 6am this morning, I snuck out of bed and peed on a stick (actually, I peed in a cup then stuck a stick in it, easier not to wee on your hand that way).

Two lines appeared.

TWO LINES.

That means, according to the Sainsbury's Basically up the duff instructions, I am probably pregnant.

I haven't got time to digest this today as my best friend is coming over in just over an hour for her hen do, so I'm going to semi ignore this (while not eating any yummy cheese) then take another test on Monday. If I get another TWO LINES I will call the docs and get an appointment and see if he/she concurs.

I'm not going to tell my husband until the doctor gives me the thumbs up.

It would be a totally ace Christmas present if it was true though...

35 days...

...is how long it has been since my last period. I am unsure whether to read anything into this or not. On the one hand, that is rather long for me to go between periods, base on my pre-progesterone only pill habit. On the other, periods are notoriously skippy after coming off the mini pill.

Walking home today, it started snowing and I felt a little bloated (undoubtedly all the Christmas chocolate floating around) and I started thinking maybe all the magic was telling me I was up the duff.

Then it stopped snowing and I felt a little uncomfy down below and I convinced myself I had in fact just started my period. Fortunately, when I got home (fortunately because it was about another 10-15 minutes walk) this turned out not to be the case. The monthly visitor is still MIA. I might take a pregnancy test in the morning (when your urine is apparently the most concentrated, according to the Sainsbury's basic 'are you knocked up' test which I was reading while having a pee earlier). Then again, I may wake up and find my question has been answered.

On another note it's so freezing at the moment I am seriously contemplating wearing gloves to bed.

Ill

I am not very well this week. I had a bit of a dizzy spell at work and went home, then tried to come back the following two days only to be sent home again because I wasn't up to it. The moment I ran out of a meeting because I was about to burst into tears was a particular high point...

This has very little to do with Operation Cobra. As I had a period just over three weeks ago, even if I had got knocked up almost immediately afterwards, it would be far too early for it to have any impact and make me feel woozy. Still, I felt it worth mentioning to the doctor, who I went to see yesterday after my colleagues repeatedly expressed concern (some people are lucky that they don't get headaches and therefore do not understand how debilitating they can be).

I was kind of hoping she might do a pregnancy test anyway, just to be on the safe side, but no, unfortunately she concurred with my fairly reasonable assessment, and sent me off with a prescription for codeine and sumatriptan. I haven't taken codeine before - it's interesting. A little trippy. I find it mildly amusing that often the side effects for drugs you take for headaches and dizziness are - headaches and dizziness. Plus some other stuff I don't even want to consider. Apparently, the codeine doesn't interact with the paracetamol and ibuprofen I was taking, or the sumatriptan for that matter, so if I so desired I could be taking four different types of painkillers. Perhaps a tad excessive.

On the plus side, you're not supposed to take any of these drugs with alcohol so I have a bonafide reason for not drinking - useful, as I am seeing a bunch of friends tonight in a pre-xmas outting that has been arranged for weeks. I wouldn't say I was exactly up to it, but heyho, the giggles may do me good.

I read somewhere that pregnancy can bring on nasty headaches, which is not a good thing. However, apparently if you already get migraines or similar, they often go away when with child. Something to look forward to? I suspect this is wishful thinking, but here's wishing.

I said a little prayer today, as I was heading towards the chemist for my array of legal pharmaceuticals, asking for a child. If you're a believer, maybe you could offer up a prayer for me too, cos I would be a totally ace mum - if you're not, perhaps you could just be rooting for me.

I hope the codeine wooziness dissipates soon, or this is going to be one surreal evening.

No thanks, I'm not drinking

Those five little words are enough to raise, heads, eyebrows and expectations in most of the circles I move in.

Not that I'm a particularly heavy drinker, in fact quite the opposite. Before I gave up, I could quite happily go for several days, even a week or two, without an alcoholic beverage passing my lips. I will happily go virgin and take my share of driving duties on visits to boozy events. But when it comes to special occasions, I have never been one to hold back. Birthdays, nights around my parents' with the clan, work nights out... These days they are not so common as perhaps four or five years ago, so a few bevys has always been very much in order.

Giving up alcohol is not difficult for me, in that I've done it for the last two years at Lent and it was a breeze. It's just the explaining why I'm not drinking that is more challenging. I am rubbish at lying or even at evading the truth. And certain people have started to catch on. I think two of my best friends know I've given up the drink, and why, along with my mum. But I have already had a few questions...

My dad took me out for a late birthday meal in October. He seemed quite puzzled by the fact I wasn't drinking, especially as we walked there and he was paying - but I have always had periods when I didn't bother with a glass of wine with dinner so he brushed it aside. But a few weeks later, my brother made a rare visit down south so the whole family was back together and went down the local pub. Fortunately, this is somewhere you have to drive to, so I volunteered to drive everyone. But when we got back chez mum and dad, and the party continued, and I still wasn't drinking, he asked me why I wasn't drinking, and if I intended to drink again. I vaguely said something about health reasons. He was pretty drunk, so I reckon he probably bought it. At the same time, my sis was loudly telling everyone how good I was for driving, I suspect without realising any of the reasoning.

Then I went for dinner at a friend's in the middle of deepest darkest Wiltshire this weekend. We hadn't seen each other in months - and she was totally flummoxed by the lack of booze - and did think it might mean something. But I told her not to read anything into it, and that I was fed up with having horrible hangovers. Which is certainly true.

So far, I have been able to brush all this aside. But we are coming up to party season - everyone will be expecting drunkenness at various events. A gang of friends are getting together in a couple of weeks for a raucous celebration - I think it unikely no-one will notice and comment beyond those in the know. I am missing my work party, but there are bound to work drinks. And then there is my best friend's hen party - I reckon I can talk my way out of that one as I will be officially looking after the chief hen. But not drinking at her wedding in January? Very odd, people will say.

The thing is, I don't have anything to hide, not yet. But equally, I'm not about to be totally up front about what my plans are because it could be a long, long time before I have anything to show for it, even a teensy little bump. And I especially wouldn't want it to become a topic at work for all the reasons that women already struggle in the labour market.

Oh well, I guess at the very least it means this festive season will be rather cheaper than it customarily is - I will just have to try not to make up for the lack of booze with cheese and chocolates.

That said, there's a tasty-looking demi pont l'eveque in the fridge with my name on it....
　

Allowing myself to believe: mistake number one

My period came yesterday. I was actually disappointed.

Somehow, despite entering into this in the most sensible of intentions, I had managed to allow a tiny, naughty thought get into my head. When my husband started telling me he reckoned I was pregnant already, I chided him and told him he was putting undue pressure on my ovaries/eggs/general lady garden.

But being a bit haphazard with the whole period thing, it being such a long time since I was in the habit, I had neglected to write down when I last had one. I worked out it might have been as long as five weeks. Now even though I know full well that when you come off the pill, your periods are not exactly regular, it did occur to me that it might be taking a little bit long.

Then I had a day last week when anything that could happen, did happen. I managed to knock over the same cup of tea twice. Then, while getting ready to cycle to work, I unlocked then accidentally relocked my bike no less than three times. Once I arrived at work, I accidentally threw my wallet in the bin while making a cup of tea. And later on, at home, I knocked over a mug and smashed it.

I am sometimes clumsy, but this seemed a little excessive. So I surreptitiously googled clumsiness in early pregnancy. I didn't find anything particularly definitive, but enough to plant a seed of excitement. Then I googled other early pregnancy signs, and found that yes, I was pretty tired, and my nipples had been a bit tender the other day. I allowed myself to get excited and contemplated actually buying a pregnancy test.

Then, my period came.

I suspect a lot of those pregnancy signs can also be signs that you are about to get a period. And lets be honest, in my case, I have been known to do some quite exceptionally dim things on the clumsy front. My colleagues are often in stitches when one of them decides to recount the tale of when I accidentally cycled into an iron bar. It was marked with red and white tape, so you would have thought it fairly visible. Or there's the time I sprained my ankle doing a particularly vigorous dance move at a festival. And only last week, I was practising a spin for my salsa class on my carpeted floor at home, which resulted in me dramatically crashing onto my husband's lap and nearly braining myself on the table. He was not best pleased.

On the plus side, this definitely justifies buying lots more stinky unpasteurised cheese. And maybe a few more prawns. Mmmmmmmmm.

Last chance for cheese

In readiness for turning my body into a baby-friendly temple, I have given up alcohol. This is no massive hardship, as I can quite happily go for a long time without booze. I gave it up for Lent the last two years and quite frankly, giving up chocolate or meat was much much harder.

The other day it occurred to me that there are other things that you can't do while pregnant I hadn't really considered. Now naked skydiving was never really on the cards, but stinky cheese! And prawns! I realised, not being up the duff quite yet, I should lose no time in indulging in these illicit treats before I was restricted to cheddar and cod (or its more environmentally friendly equivalent).

To that end, I spent a good hour wandering Waitrose's cheese aisle, gazing hungrily at the gooiest produce before selecting a choice few. I ended up spending about 15 quid on cheese. All totally worth it though. Sadly I've eaten it all now. That epoisse... that beautiful comte... my mouth is watering again. I also made a totally awesome prawn curry, another portion of which is awaiting my delectation in the freezer. Who knows, I may have a year or more yet to enjoy all that blue-veined, unpasteurised deliciousness - or I could be looking at the blue veins in my legs and pumping unpasteurised goodies out of my fun bags for somebody else. We'll see. But for now, I intend to linger in the cheese aisle and bring home an embarrassingly smelly bagful.

Operation Cobra

We now have a name for mission get pregnant - one slightly more catchy than what I've just said. I'm not sure it's entirely - or indeed at all - necessary to have a special code name, other than to make it feel like we're in some super cool spy movie. Or alternately a seriously lame police force where they call cracking down on groups of teenager hanging around Operation Bagatha. Operation Cobra (it has no meaning or relevance at all which is why I like it) is way more cool than that.

A couple of my friends have bought their first houses recently, and one of them has recently announced her engagement. Me and my husband (gotta think of a suitably appropriate nickname for him) and these two other couples were getting together to celebrate the other day over more fish and chips than would seem feasible.

Anyway, there was some kind of toast and hubby said: "... and Bellygazer is definitely NOT pregnant". This was when I'd just had my period.

He was greeted by embarrassed silence. My best friend (no stranger to our baby making plans) later took me aside and said to make sure that when I told my husband I was up the duff, I was happy at that point for everyone in our acquaintance to know as sure as pigs taste delicious in bacon rolls, he wouldn't be able to keep it from everyone.

Operation Cobra isn't exactly a secret - being the first of our friends to get married everyone has been rooting for babies and taking bets on how soon my tummy would be swelling with more than just pies and cheese. Maybe three or four of my closest friends know I'm off the pill and on a mini-mission, as does my mother. She thinks I ought to tell my dad, but hell no to that, it would mean implying that his daughter actually has sex.

However, for obvious reasons, I don't want my fertility to be too much of a talking point putting pressure on us if it takes a little longer than expected for the right sperm and the right egg to swoon over each other in the romantic setting of my dimly lit womb. Also, I don't want anyone at my work to know until I'm properly, thoroughly pregnant because I don't want it to affect how I get treated there.

Ah,bless the boy. He just looked over my shoulder and asked why what he said was followed by silence. I'm still not sure he quite understands. At least it wasn't when I was out with my workmates, cos that would have been embarrassing. Hey ho.

On another note, I read up about how to pregnant earlier today - not the birds and the bees, obviously I'm not that dim, just tips on how to increase your chances. Apparently, missionary and doggy style are good, woman on top not so good. And some people like to stick their legs up for 20 minutes afterwards, despite absolutely no empirical evidence that this has any effect. Also, you look and feel silly.

We shall see.

Unprotected

Things didn't go exactly as planned during that post pill/ pre 'trying' period. Getting used to stopping and fishing out a condom, when really we did want to get pregnant was a bit difficult to get our heads round.

My dear husband was also terrified that when he knew he was doing it for real, he would get performance anxiety - and with the whole condom thing it was going to be fairly obvious that we had indeed stopped stopping ourselves.

At the end of the day, we had our first shot a couple of days before we had planned to, when messing around, my husband decided he didn't really want to stop and pop on a johnny, and I decided I didn't really think one day here or there was going to make much difference to whatever tiny scrap of anti-malarial medication I had in my system. And in the event, because we hadn't sat down and said 'right, here we go, let's give it a whirl', I am pleased to report there was no difficulty in rising to the occasion or in following through.


Of course, that first time did not bear any fruit, and a few more enthusiastic attempts later, I had proof of that - my first period in about 18 months. I greeted it with mixed emotions - it was a good sign in that it meant I appeared to be going back to a normal cycle and should be able to get preggers without too much delay, but it also it clearly signified that I was not, as yet pregnant - hardly a big surprise.

Sitting at home wrapped in big woolly jumpers and chain-drinking tea while clutching my bloated and painful tummy, I reflected on the fact that I really had not missed peridods at all... the associated crippling aches, my tendency to get mild diarrhoea at that time of the month, or the fact that for the duration I feel a little bit like I'm wearing a nappy.

I also reflected that if my very first few attempts had proved successful, I would have been eight months pregnant at next year's Glastonbury Festival, which I had persuaded my husband to buy tickets for for the first time in several years because I would hopefully be a little bit pregnant by then. I think that eight months pregnant would really be too waddly for sleeping in a tent and trudging through mud, however much I love the festival.

Anyway, my period is over now for another month although I am still curled up on the sofa comforting myself, this time because I have a nasty cold.

I wonder if I will become one of those women anxiously checking for my period each month, devastated by the first sight of blood. I hope not. I am realistic about how long this might take, and am planning to favour the scattergun approach (do it as much as possible and hope for the best) rather than a military strategy complete with dates and charts.

But wish me luck none the less. I'm off for another cup of tea.

Getting started

I am one of life's planners, taking no end of pleasure in lots of lists and knowing exactly what's going to happen next. Naturally, I hope to take pregnancy and babies in the same way.

Ha!

The graceful slide from recreational to procreational sex was somewhat spoilt by the fact that I have been on the progesterone only pill for the last 18 months and that to go to Cambodia, I would have to go on a course of anti-malarials.

This posed several problems - it was not a good idea to be trying to get pregnant while on anti-malarials, or for a questionable amount of time afterwards (don't want a malaria baby,see), and also, on the mini-pill as they like to call it, I had no periods at all and two things might happen when I stopped -firstly, there was a good chance I would have a really long period (not fun while on holiday) and secondly, it might take several months for my cycle to get back to normal.

I took these questions to a nice young doctor and bombarded her with them. I must have been a nightmare patient, but I suspect it was only the beginning. Having packed me off with both a huge pile of condoms and enough pills to last me six months longer than I had any intention of taking them, it was down to me to decide what to do.

So after weighing up all my considerations and conflicting advice, a plan of action was decided on - I would carry on taking the pill during Cambodia to avoid inconvenient bleeding, then go off it once I left and use condoms for the next couple of weeks (the half-life we decided Malarone might potentially have) before ditching all birth control and urging nature to take its course.

Strange to think something I have been trying desperately to avoid my whole adult life is now exactly what I am trying to nab.

An introduction

See that sow, with the swollen mammaries and enormous litter of piglets? That's what I want to be. A mum.

I always have wanted that,one day, in some distant future. But having found the man I was destined to spend the rest of my life with at the tender age of 19, and embarked on no less than nine years of ever so responsible sex, children were going to come 'when we were ready', when I had finally decided that actually, yes, you can meet the man you plan to grow old with when you are still unsure what hair colour, cut of jeans or pizza topping you prefer, and once we had taken the tiny step of getting married.

I imposed a few limits on myself - I didn't want to be married until I was at least 25 and I didn't want to start a family until we had been married at least a year.

After a few months of marriage made the arrangement seem comfortable, permanent and right, I realised that I had done enough waiting. I hatched a plan and proposed it to my husband. I was not prepared to say goodbye to fun just yet. I would have one last sun-drenched, carefree, irresponsibly drunken Glastonbury, then, for our first anniversary we would go to Cambodia and spend two weeks doing the kind of backpacking the advent of children forbids.

Then, I would go off the pill and we would go from practising the art of babymaking enthusiastically but with no hope of success, as we had been doing for the best part of a decade, and get down to business the way my Catholic priest likes to think we had been doing it all along.

And that pretty much takes us to today...