It seems utterly incomprehensible that it was a sunny Friday in June when I found out I was preggers. How is it November already? People say you don’t get any signs of pregnancy until after a missed period … but I knew something was up … my mouth tasted like I’d been chewing pennies all night, and bananas didn’t taste like bananas anymore. I haven’t had a cup of tea since mid June, and overnight something agonising happened to my breasts. We had someone coming to view a spare room in my house-share at 6pm. I went to the Co-Op after work for a test … the traffic was bad on the way home. I got in, ran upstairs to the bathroom, peed on stick, and straight away the blue cross appeared. I remember sitting there with my knickers around my ankles thinking, WOW … this is serious. My hands were shaking, and before I’d washed them the doorbell rang. Needless to say the poor chap who came to view the room probably thought I was totally bonkers [he didn’t take it]. As soon as he left I went to Tesco and bought another two tests … both confirming the first. I bought two more before I went to the GP to break the news. Memories of peeing on sticks.
That night I lay in bed, my hand pressed against my flat stomach [it was flat, once] … reassuring the little life within it, that whatever happened “it” was wanted and would be loved; that a whole life of fun, love and adventure lay ahead. I knew the coming months wouldn’t be easy. I knew there would be judgements and anger – this wasn’t a planned pregnancy – the father and I are not together and were not “together” at the conception [well, obviously we were together – I’m not the Virgin Mary … but we weren’t in a relationship]. I knew life would never be the same again …. but as the day gets closer to getting the keys to my very own place … and as the weeks fly by and my belly grows, I know we will be okay. When I saw that wriggling baby boy on the screen at the 20 week scan, it felt like he was the only important thing in my world. A little boy, kicking and somersaulting in the safe confines of my womb.
It was a grey weekend, and I have a cold … I did very little other than drink honey and lemon, beat my Dad at Scrabble, read a book, and reassure my Labrador that the fireworks aren’t going to kill him. Today I’ve taken my germs to work and acquired a Rudolph-esque nose. Whenever I sneeze and cough [which is quite often!] baby boy kicks as if to say, “Oi! Stop it, you’re disturbing me”!! Seriously though, where does all the snot come from? It’s immense.