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....
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
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.
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.
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