Never take yourself too seriously, it causes wrinkles

Anyone who knows me and knows me well, will know that I’m not easily embarrassed. Which is a good thing.

I don’t mind admitting when I’m lost or have said something completely inappropriate. I will leave the house in my PJ’s to take out the garbage and recycling. I drop Ryan off at the tube station; no make-up and wet hair. I may even venture into the corner shop to buy milk without my face on. I don’t mind. I’m not entirely sure when this side of me came in to being? Perhaps, being the skinny kid, with buck teeth and a boys haircut, who was constantly teased growing up has provided me with a thick outer crust. I know I’m being judged by passers-by at least one hundred times a day, because I do the exact same thing. It’s human nature. I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin.

Almost a year ago, for my birthday in fact, Kerry decided that I should have a birthday experience rather than a birthday present.  In true big sister fashion she let her little sister pick said experience. 

I think she was secretly hoping I’d opt for a spa day. Alas, I did not.

I picked a couple of hours in Battersea Park with a performing circus school. Here, in a matter of hours, one would master the art of acrobatics. High up on a trapeze we’d learn how to fly and completely trust the upside-down stranger dangling from a swing on the other end, to catch us as we flew through the air.  I was so excited that we arrived early! Sensing my excitement our trainer picked me when the rest of group arrived to demonstrate, on the ground, what we’d be expected to do in the air. 

This entailed a lot of moves that I had mastered on the playground jungle-gym about 30yrs previously. I’d forgotten that I was about 50kgs heaver and my thighs no longer contracted in a way that they used to, which made it difficult, nay, impossible, to throw my legs over the bar, let alone lift my own body weight. 

As our trainer, who had by now enlisted the help of another acrobat, to lift me into position on the bar, I let out what can only be described as one of the loudest and longest farts I’d ever heard. It took me about 4 seconds to realise the noise had not only come from my body, but had been created by my lady-like bowel as well.

I. Was. Mortified. 

But suddenly hanging upside down in front of this group of complete and utter strangers, bar one who, let’s face it, had seen me do worse things, I couldn’t hang onto the embarrassment for long. S**t happens. And in my case, quite literally!

I’m glad I learnt that lesson then because being pregnant means that basic dignity disappears around the 5 month mark. I have to make sure my bladder is empty before I attempt to sneeze. And for someone who suffers from hayfever, who has also developed the thirst of a camel and downsized to a plum sized bladder; this is no mean feat! Flatulence is the least of my worries. It’s become second nature that I’ve stopped blushing.

But I’ll still say “excuse me” if I’m around anyone else other than Ryan. Oh yes my friends, I now happily pass wind in whoevers company I happen to be in at the time. I’m too fat and too bloated to care.

I still want to find out who ‘they’ are and pummel them a little; because ‘they’ say that by your second trimester you start feeling like your old self again, your energy levels return and you start feeling more normal.

Bullocks.

There is nothing normal about carrying, what feels like, a 6kg beach ball strapped to my belly. Or the fact that wearing heels around the office is no longer an option, not because I might fall but because my feet get so bloated that it takes a team of podiatry engineers to remove them at the end of the day. My energy levels are the same as a 96yr old man as I have a 45min cat-nap, both ways, during my commute. 

Normal? If it is then it’s no normal I’ve ever known! I’m in the last month of my second trimester, with three weeks to go before I enter the third and the magical normality unicorn has not paid me a visit.

Perhaps this is my ‘new normal’ my body is getting ready to embrace this next chapter of sleepless nights and downgraded wardrobe of flat shoes and maternity t-shirts. And I better learn to love it…like a fat kid loves cake! I didn’t master the art of acrobats and learn to do a somersault on that trapeze a year ago. My big sister did though. And I watched her proudly from the ground as she flew through the air, looking as if she’d been doing it for years.

The most important lesson that we’ll all teach Little One is that; taking part is necessary, having fun is optional and not being embarrassed to be yourself is absolutely compulsory. 

(I didn't Google that little pearl of wisdom, it's common sense.)

And a valuable lesson to learn early on in your life Kiddo, as it will save you years of insecurity.

For my friend Janine, taken this evening 24wks / 3days