Show Me The Tropes

In my last blog, I touched upon the pregnancy clichés that so often come up and so often don’t happen in real life. While watching the latest episodes of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend recently and seeing


Heather in a pregnancy rage, my husband turned to me and said, ‘You’ve not been like that at all.’ And it’s true, I really haven’t. In fact, very few of the pregnancy tropes have applied to my 8-month journey…

To begin with, I didn’t find out I was pregnant because I woke up in my sun-streamed New York apartment, mere hours after conceiving, and rushed to the bathroom to elegantly throw up. No one else found out I was expecting after poking around in our bin and finding my discarded test. I didn’t take the test in some tense situation, pacing around a glamorous public bathroom with a kooky female friend or nervously sitting in my pristine bathroom waiting for the result.

My pregnancy has not been plagued by odd cravings for charcoal and prawn sandwiches, which, frankly, has been quite disappointing. Although, frankly, as an utter glutton if the supposed cravings have just passed me by or I’m in a perpetual pregnancy-esque binge. I’ve also not had to order my husband out in the middle of the night to fetch me a jar of gherkins and a gallon of cherryade. Again, another disappointment for a self-confessed glutton who likes nothing more than the idea of eating utter filth in bed at 2am and having a totally legitimate reason for doing so.

I’ve not been weepy, unless when watching Queer Eye, which proves absolutely nothing because even my usual stone-cold heart could would struggle to get beyond the first 3 minutes without howling. I’ve not been irrational, I’ve not suffered from supposed baby brain (not that I’ve not used it as an excuse…) and I’ve not been unjustly angry unless I drop something on the floor and realise it’s now going to take 33 manoeuvres to retrieve it. Bloody hell, I’ve even had strangers that I’ve worked with comment on the fact that I don’t seem to need to wee much for a pregnant woman.

All this can make you think that maybe you’re doing something wrong. Why aren’t I crying at advert? Why didn’t I bite the head off the guy in our corner shop for asking if I wanted a carrier bag? Why haven’t I craved soapy sponges with a side order of burnt bananas? Of course, what you quickly realise is that pregnancy is far more individual than the world of TV and film makes out. One woman’s hot flush is another woman’s eighth vomit of the day. You might get all the side effects and you might get none, either is perfectly normal on the pregnancy spectrum. But wherever you find yourself, be it eating pickled onions from the jar as you bathe in your second trimester glow or you’re skipping around town at 38 weeks as you wonder yet again whether your waters have broken or it’s just yet more discharge, you’re doing bloody great. 

Currently in love with...

I was delightfully given a tub of Neal's Yard Mother's Balm for Christmas and oh my word, it's a pot of joy. Now, there's a chance that my aforementioned gluttony is why I'm avoiding stretch marks as my stomach is more than accommodating more than it really needs but I'm fairly sure this is helping. One thing they don't tell you about pregnancy is skin tightness and the delight of an itchy bump, but this balm stops it instantly. If you're pregnant and can afford the splurge, or have someone asking desperately what they can get you, I'd properly recommend this.

Currently appalled by...

The fact I didn't think to get maternity bras sooner, or before I was even pregnant. I'll wang on about how great these are in my next blog but seriously, maternity and nursing bras are everrrrrryyyyythiiiiiiiing. Yes, they give you mono-boob. Yes, they make you feel as sexy as a slimy mushroom. But my word, they're what women deserve. They're soft, comfortable and they're already making me scared about returning to my normal underwired bras. So yes, I'm genuinely angry that these have been kept a secret from me for so bloody long. 


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