Glutton Dressed As Damn

When I found out I was pregnant, I imagined I’d embrace being gloriously wholesome. Grain bowls would be my staple, even though I’m still not entirely sure what they are. A rainbow of vegetables would make up my daily routine, supported by a regime of gentle swimming, yoga and an intake of every supplement under the sun.

However, what I hadn’t factored in was that a good chunk of my first trimester would be spent up at the Edinburgh Fringe where performing a kids’ show every day plus living in a flat up three flights of punishing concrete stairs and a constant lurking of nausea left me with the energy of a dying weed. Out went the plans of wholesome nourishment and in came pickled onion crisps, apple juice and a terrifying amount of toast. While I was delighted to be saving the usual eye-watering amounts I’d spend on booze, I was seeing it all instead going on a never-ending supply of sourdough.  

This sudden change in diet was a huge shock to a glutton like me. Apart from raw tomatoes and cockles, I’ll eat pretty much anything. Never a fussy child, my parents delighted at my willingness to eat my greens from a young age and having grown up with a chef for a dad and a terrifyingly talented baker of a mum, food has always been an important part of my life. So suddenly finding my body telling me it only wanted certain things was probably a greater shock than finding out I was pregnant in the first place. My greed for food was still there like the constant companion it's always been, it just seemed to have returned from a gap year and was no longer the fun friend they used to be. 

Then was the added joy of there being certain foods off the table. Where my Google search history was once finding out how old celebrities are and where I’d seen that woman in that programme before, it’s now just a constant check of what types of cheese I’m allowed to eat. I’d gone from being Henry VIII, feasting upon anything I could lay my hands on, to a mopey bag of nauseous gloom unable to stomach anything that wasn’t beige.

Thankfully it passed. The need for carbs still lingers but I’m also able to stomach food that might offer nutrients again too. However, I’m pleased to have not dropped the notion of listening to what my body needs, even if I do seem to only really listen when it wants a Pret Chicken and Bacon baguette and salt and vinegar crisps rather than when it’s calling out for a banana. People have asked if I'm experiencing any weird cravings, which I'm not, but it's an odd question if you're the type who will always overfill your plate at a buffet and still go back for seconds, thirds and fourths. I'm always craving food, I just have to assume that the craving for pizza is just louder than the craving for cheese and charcoal ice cream... 

Currently in need of…

The nicest decaf teas. I would seriously drink tea all day without even thinking about it and while Tetley Decaf is fine, the time has come to start seeking out some lovely ones to make up for the lack of port and mulled wine as the winter months start to approach.

Currently appalled by…

Sorry, we’re still on maternity clothes. This time my well-cooked (of course) beef is with maternity dresses and designers’ apparent desire to turn baby-carrying women into nuns. Of all the things that come with pregnancy, a sudden urge to have dresses that unflatteringly finish just below the knee isn’t one of them. Please stop drowning me and let me get my legs out.


  1. Honestly, try - it's not maternity stuff, but it's roomy and it's fun! There's kind of two ways to go if you're PG and on a human's budget (or not that lucky and on an actor's budget) - frumpy and frilly, or oversized normal stuff.

    The other strong option is - sure it's stuff that won't last at those prices, and hey, that bump just feels like it's forever. ;) They do have some very comfy, roomy blouses and tops etc that look fab with a good pair of maternity jeans.

    I spent the money on a decent nursing bra and maternity jeans, and then made it up with cheap oversized regular stuff.


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