Saturday, 11 August 2007

Excuse Me, I'm Pregnant

There are several things I like about being pregnant: I can wear all those tops that have languished in my drawer, forlornly awaiting the miraculous day I achieve infomercial-worthy weight loss, because suddenly my rotund belly is no longer unsightly, but ‘beautiful’; I can ignore the fact that ‘eating for two’ is a deceptive and outdated concept, to justify eating two jam doughnuts in a sitting; I’m permitted – no, encouraged – to put my feet up instead of slaving for hours over cleaning chemicals and heavy washing baskets; and of course, a sweet little baby will soon pop out of my nicely pre-expanded birth canal.

Pregnancy being what it is, however, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t things I didn’t like about it. Sure, the closest I’ve come to Hollywood-movie morning sickness was my pregnancy-sensitised stomach rebelling violently at the taste of an envelope I’d just licked, or the couple of times my mouth decided my tooth-brushing made it too clean, and therefore ordered my breakfast to make an encore appearance. I’ve never had high blood pressure, swelling, varicose veins or haemorrhoids, or (thank merciful God) a cyst growing on top of a haemorrhoid, a phenomenon I’d never imagined in my most tortured nightmares before some woman gleefully volunteered that particular personal experience in my unwilling hearing. And while I do suffer with daily heartburn, seemingly constant low-grade illnesses from lowered immunity and the normal discomforts associated with foetal cells multiplying rapidly inside one’s uterus, it’s the invisible symptoms that seem to wreak the most havoc.

I’m talking about hormones, those insidious chemicals that have surged through my body like a tsunami of craziness, leaving me awash in aggression, irrationality and paranoia. At least this time I’m prepared for the occasional-to-frequent appearances of Mrs. Hyde, unlike during my first pregnancy when I angrily snubbed my entire bewildered family for two weeks until unburdening myself of exaggerated slights and grievances during a tearful accusatory phone call to my mother from the sick bay at work. Now I’m experienced enough to know that what seem like deliberate attempts by my family and friends to offend and anger me, probably aren’t. However, this realisation does nothing to appease the beast inside, a beast which scoffs at attempted restraint and even the outpourings of a vitriolic blog, instead demanding BLOOD! (or at least lots of swearing and rude hand gestures.)

So it is that I find myself yelling and cursing at other drivers on the road like I haven’t since my callow child-free days (only when the children aren’t in the car with me, of course – what do you think I am, one of those chigger mums whose children’s first word is ‘f***’?). Or I wallow in maudlin contemplation of horrible news stories I normally try to forget for the sake of my own sanity, and weep indulgently at tragedies in movies and books. I harbour resentment against perfectly nice people for causing mild negative effects on my life through no real fault of their own. I find irritants and insults and disdain for my condition in the actions of acquaintances and strangers alike. In short, I’m grumpy, irritable, scowling, bellicose and prone to flash-floods of tears, with none of the self-control a normal functioning adult member of society usually employs.

Yeah, pregnancy hormones. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Thursday, 9 August 2007

Farewell, My Friend

It was only today in the doctor’s waiting room that I realised how serious your condition is: the etched wrinkles, the peeling skin, your dull and worn-out appearance. I can’t pretend it didn’t shock and sadden me, even though I’ve known for some time that our days together are coming to an end. It doesn’t seem fair – we met short years ago, and I thought we’d be together forever, but now I don’t even know whether we’ll see in the New Year together.

When first we met I felt an instant attraction, and we’ve been close companions ever since. I remember many an occasion you kept chill winds from me with your close embrace, and often it seemed your mere presence was enough to comfort me on days of grey and gloom. Whenever we were out in public I always felt so proud of you – you drew so many admiring stares and compliments, and by association made me look and feel great. Now, because of your delicate condition, we don’t go out much anymore.

I fear it won’t be long until our memories of happy times will be the only things we have left to share. Each time I study you, trying not to let my concern show, you seem older, more fragile and too tired to carry on. Perhaps the worst aspect of your sad degeneration is my complete futility and utter inability to prevent or even slow the cruel process. The only thing I can offer you is this promise: even when your life is over, I will keep you with me always, and no one shall ever replace you.

How could they? You were the best fake leather coat a girl could have.

Thursday, 2 August 2007



…“Nobody cares!” I want to scream at my in-laws during their incessant chatter…mutter…backstab…


…My boss exclaims over how sick I am but stops short of sending me home…

…Whine…pout…refuse to count my blessings…

There. Now no-one will notice the lack of a proper blog post.