Pregnancy: the more I learn, the less I know...

A month or so ago I shared eight things that I'd learnt so far during my pregnancy. The lessons haven't stopped and there is no sign of this easing off either; 

9. There are no flies on me

Literally! My pre-pregnancy wardrobe saw me wear a lot of dresses, because I've never mastered the art of the zipper. You see, I'm a little like a goldfish when it comes to using the loo, if I am indeed wearing trousers. Because within about 3 seconds; I'll get up, pull up and get out. I'll then be starred at for the rest of the afternoon.  And while I think people are looking at me, they are in fact looking at my knickers peeking through my trousers, trying to work out how best to tell me. I've gone entire days in this state. My pregnancy wardrobe has introduced me to elastic-waistbands. A dream to wear! They even have fake little lapels so that they look like proper zip up trousers. Genius! 

10. Babies kick...a lot

Pre-pregnancy, I thought babies in the womb kicked every now and again. Turns out this is a myth. This is something Hollywood has failed to portray correctly in it's films. Babies kick all...the...time. I'm not complaining at all. It's pure joy for me. And Ryan clambers over pillows or drops whatever he's doing to cop-a-feel of my belly when Little One is doing the Harlem Shake. He's got a routine too, he's super active first thing in the morning, around lunch time until afternoon tea and again in the evening and more so when we're getting ready to sleep. So pretty much the entire day!

11. Nesting isn't just a female thing

Enough said. 

I will add that I really don't understand what nesting is all about because the last person who is going to notice all the effort that we've put in to cleaning, painting, primping and pruning is Little One. The concept will be lost on him entirely even though it's in preparation for his big arrival.

12. Everyone has a story

I actually love this part of pregnancy; from the ladies at the pool who have kids, to the old man waiting for the bus, to the plumber, painter and electrician we've had come through doors in the last couple of weeks (see point above...I wasn't kidding about nesting). Everyone has a story to share, a kind word to say or some good old fashioned advice. I'm bigger now, so there is no mistaking that I am indeed pregnant rather than built like the Pillsbury dough boy, so strangers will strike up a conversation at the drop of a hat. 

13. I'm no longer a hippo

I've been replaced by a tortoise instead. Except my shell is on my front not my back. I need help getting up off the floor (don't ask) or deep sunken sofa's. That whole "lift the weight of things with your lower body as it will put less stress on your back"...complete and utter nonsense. Try squatting on the floor with your knees bent and then lift yourself, unaided, with what feels like an extra 8kgs strapped to your belly? Try it. I double dare you. Try it while holding 3 frozen chickens for full effect.    

14. Emotions run high 

I'm very emotional. And not just with the tears. I get really angry too. And at things that I wouldn't usually give a toss about, which also makes me cry! Ryan and I have been together for almost 7 years and in that time he's seen me have two panic attacks; once when I thought I'd killed my sisters cat (that's a story for another time) and just last week for no apparent reason at all! I cry just thinking about what Little One is going to look sleeping in his crib and what he might look like all curled up on the sofa with his Dad. I cry when I hear other people crying. It's just never ending. Pass me a tissue! 

15. Never wear your husband belt...without giving it a test run first

This is what I discovered today; I managed to get into a pair of pre-pregnancy trousers this morning but had to improvise on how to keep them up. My usual BellyBelt wasn't quite up to the job. Now the belt I picked wasn't exactly traditional, more 'street' and the buckle resembled something you'd find on an airplane seat-belt. It matched my outfit perfectly. But rushing between meetings, I ended up, marooned in the bathroom at work, trying to figure out how to get the buckle undone as the 'trick' wasn't part of the demo this morning! There is nothing worse than standing, desperately needing the loo, unable to remove your trousers because you're being held hostage by your belt!!! I eventually figured it out, 5 minutes later, after much huffing and puffing. 

I'm now midway through week 32 and I'm starting to feel massively bloated and more pregnant than ever. After speaking with a friend earlier this week, who is two weeks away from having her baby boy, while swapping tips about how best to kick start labour, it dawned on me that we're not that far away from parenthood ourselves. 

Little One is already such a huge part of our lives. Ryan and I have settled into a comfortable routine of connecting with him on a daily basis, which I love. The truth is, we became parents the day I found out I was pregnant and the instinct to protect our little boy just gets stronger and stronger for both of us. 

Bargain Hunters...

Ryan and I have lots in common - we both love a good bargain. I'm a pretty good negotiator too, in fact, I'm pretty sure if I ever were to consider a new career path it would be that of a hostage negotiator! 

We'll stick to bargain hunting store side for the time being though. 

I love TK Maxx, for those of you in SA think Meltz in Sandton and PE...on steroids. I can spend hours in a TK Maxx (in the US it's called TJ Maxx for some reason?) and when my Mom comes out to visit later this year, I know she'll happily spend an entire afternoon browsing the racks. I've clearly inherited this gene from her. The one in Wimbledon has a great baby section and even though my husband typically hates browsing, especially TK Maxx, he'll happily do this if we're looking for baby things. Ryan has a great eye for detail and luckily we have similar tastes both in decor and baby paraphernalia. 

Yesterday afternoon we decided to up the ante - we skipped TK Maxx and headed to a Mum2Mum Market instead. 

Now let me explain for those not from around here; in the UK car boot sales are part of British culture. People will happily get out of bed at the crack of dawn and head down to an open field, in all weathers, and sell their old tat from the boot of their car. They'll happily sit there, sometimes all day, and willingly let strangers rummage through their personal items that they want to get rid of. 

Car boot sales are usually for people who couldn't be bothered with taking photo's of said tat and selling it on eBay.

Now a Mum2Mum Market is like a car boot sale but clever. Instead of being held in an open field; it's held in-doors (think church hall, school hall or local community center). Instead of starting at the crack of dawn; it runs for 2hrs max (usually during civil afternoon hours, once you've got all your Saturday chores done and managed to eat your lunch). Instead of selling old tat; people off-load unwanted, unused, hardly used baby and kids things (think any old clutter that you don't want to just giveaway to your local charity shop if you could make a couple of quid off of selling it yourself). 

M2M Markets are usually for parents who are too busy looking after their brood to take photo's of said clutter and sell it on eBay.  

I've wanted to go to one for ages but we always seem to have something else on the go. These markets aren't held every week like car boot sales, instead they happen once a month or every couple of months depending where you're located. I  made a note in my diary having missed the one back in July. So in the spitting rain we headed off on uncharted waters yesterday after doing our chores and eating our lunch.

And now I know why these markets only run for 2hrs - because it felt like we were in a scene from Armageddon or Independence Day or Titanic or any other movie you can think of where people are scared, I mean dead petrified, that they might actually come to some sort of fatal harm. Anything more than 2hrs, blood would've been shed, police called and all future M2M Markets cancelled forever. Tensions run high. You can't move, well you can but not in a hurry.

The last time I saw that many people, of a similar age to me, crammed into a school hall was when I was 15yrs old getting my grove on during a school disco at Glenvista High! 

The first thing that hit us was the noise; school halls aren't known for their great acoustic qualities, so adding, what felt like over 100 screaming/crying kids, of all ages, enabled the sound barrier in my head to burst. Clearly none of them had had their lunch! 

The second thing was the amount of baby buggies one had to navigate around; in fact this was rather funny because there is nothing more amusing than watching one irritated mother with a screaming child, in a buggy, trying to navigate her way around another irritated mother with her screaming child in a similar sized buggy. At one point I thought both were about to have an ol' western stand-off with each other. 

I can't remember what the third thing was I noticed because we lasted all of twenty minutes in there. Ryan says I've scarred him for life. 

You can spot the experienced M2M Market goers a mile away - they've ditched the buggy and have their little one strapped to their chest in a baby carrier, thus enabling free movement of both hands and the ability to make a quick getaway. 

I managed to part with £10 during this little experiment and picked up some great items (see pic below) for Little One. He'll never know that they're not brand new, something he best get used to with having thrifty parents. 

Ryan has not only forgiven me but has also agreed to go to another market day; this time as sellers, we have some kiddies t-shirts we need to off-load before Little One get's here - overstock from Urban Africa. 

Watch this space as I'm pretty sure we'll have some tales after this experience! 

Ryan with one of his TK Maxx finds

Bargain buys from M2M Market; one almost new JoJo Maman Bebe romper with hat £2, Dr Seuss alphabet cards £3 and brand newborn 6 piece set £5

Mind The Gap...

Before falling pregnant, I vowed that I'd never be one of those mothers-to-be who'd start wearing a "Baby on Board" badge the minute two lines appeared on a little white stick.

It kinda made me feel like a farm animal that had been branded on my butt! In this case the 'farmer' would've been London Underground and I'm pretty sure there are lots of laws regulating what they can and cannot do to my butt! Apart from providing it a nice comfy seat to accompany me on my daily commute between Southfields and Monument station. 

London Underground provide these neat little branded badges to mothers-to-be who are 'with child' which one wears so that, should you have a daily commute, like I do, that lasts around an hour each way, when you enter a busy tube carriage, people magically part like the Red-Sea and you are given a seat by a kindly gentleman or gentlewoman. 

I felt very strongly about NOT wearing one of these badges, firstly I didn't want anyone at work knowing I was pregnant until I was at least 3 months gone and secondly I refer to my first paragraph about not wanting to feel like member of Old MacDonalds clan. 

I caved by 16 weeks. 

I gave in and went to collect my "Baby on Board" badge during one very hot commute through Monument station. 

And let me tell you something, London Underground have this nailed because you can't collect a badge from a normal ticket window (i.e. where you're belly is not clearly visible behind the bullet proof glass). No, no, no my dear friends, you have to go to the Stations Masters office. I think this is to deter people who are carrying a couple of extra bon-bons around their waistline rather than an actual baby, by claiming a badge rather than going on a much needed diet. 

You have to show proof that you're expecting; they don't ask you outright to lift up your blouse or flash a positive pregnancy test. But I had to answer some very quick fired questioned that were slightly tainted in fake congratulatory "Ah, well done Las! Is this your first then? How far are you? Congratulations! When are you due?". 

I'm pretty sure part of the recruitment process for a Station Master involves candidates having to do a quick calculation to see if your current week of pregnancy matches your due date! 

Ryan almost cried when I showed him my badge when I got home that evening. And insisted on taking a photo (see 'exhibit A' below). This now meant that I was openly telling the world I was pregnant rather than carrying a couple of pounds of holiday weight. It worked. People parted like the Red-Sea and I was very lucky that by wearing my little badge I got a seat on the hottest of days. There are special seats in each tube carriage that are designated for my sort, which quickly become available if your badge is within sight. 

I wore the badge for all of three weeks. I passed the awkward phase and started looking pregnant rather than the Pillsbury Dough boy. I also feel equally comfortable asking for a seat if I actually need one. Which I think every pregnant woman should do, instead of looking around, rubbing their tummies as if people should magically guess that they've been knocked-up rather than suffering a bout of indigestion. I've also been on the receiving end and felt like a complete b**** when a disabled woman asked for my seat and I said "I'm afraid you'll have to ask that gentleman over there to move as I'm 6 months pregnant."   

I'm 29 weeks pregnant today, officially 7 months and 1 week. I've also altered my hours at work in the run up to heading off on maternity leave, working a four day week, two days in the office and two days from home. The joys of working for a progressive company!

I can't believe that in a little over 10 weeks Little One will be here...we've upgraded his nickname to Mexican Jumping Bean because that's what he feels like! 

Exhibit A - Yes I know it's upside down but so is our baby ;-)

Sugar Rush!

Sugar really does affect children, even those in utero.

I thought that was an old wives tales invented by my parents to keep me away from the good stuff so I "didn't ruin my dinner". If I'd known then that sugar can induce an Energizer-Bunny-Styled high, I would've taken advantage of that sweet fact before my sixth birthday!

And it seems the smaller you are the more you are affected, as I found out last night with Little One. Who is only about 28cm tall. 

All it took was a mini sized bottle of lemonade (150ml at most) and a handful of wine gums (a small handful). Granted it was at 22:00. And just before bedtime. But needless to say Little One was on a sugary buzz for what seemed like forever! Moving his arms and legs about, sometimes in unison, like a little starfish. At one point I think he actually headbutted me. And he didn't take to lightly to Ryan poking him in the foot. It just made him kick harder. 

He eventually settled down an hour or so later, but only after I'd worried myself to sleep thinking I'd caused irreversible damage. Similar to the Liquorice Allsorts Debacle in Italy back in May (long story short: I ate my body weight in Liquorice Allsorts, one of those weird things I craved while travelling, only to discover that consuming large quantities of the stuff, while pregnant, can make your baby stupid...I exaggerate, I ate 75g of the stuff but reading that little nugget made me feel like the worst mother-to-be this side of the equator). 

Anyway, last night the valuable lesson was; your parents always know best. So our rule will be, if you are less than one meter tall - no sugar after 4pm and 6pm if you are one meter or taller. 

But always remember to take your parents advice with a pinch of salt. I'm typing this entry with my opposable thumbs firmly attached - it appears they didn't fall off, like my folks said they would, after the constant years of thumb-sucking. If they'd just told me I'd end up with Bugs Bunny teeth instead, I never would've started in the first place!

Pregnancy: what I've learnt so far...

1. I identify with wildlife more...particularly the Hippo

Why the hippo? Because I know why they spend 96% of their lives in water and I wish I could too. Obviously I'm packing on the pounds being pregnant - I'd be worried if I didn't. It wasn't until I found myself in a body of water (i.e. the pool at the spa) that I became acutely aware of how much weight I'd actually gained. Getting out of the pool required (a lot) of effort. 

2. Home pedicures have become obsolete

This used to be a part of my routine every second weekend, why pay £25 when I can do it at home for free and not have people laugh at my web toes (granted it's mostly Ryan that finds my web toes hysterical). Having grown a belly means that I can no longer bend in two to reach said toes. I've tried. And cut off my air supply. So I can't paint my toes or put on strappy sandals. Ryan has mastered this. The sandals, not the nail polish "because of the fumes."

3. Lady-like poses are a thing of the past

I think I passed this stage when I (over) shared about my issues with granny like flatulence. However having a belly means I can't cross my legs any longer, it's like trying not to squash a water-filled-ballon that's been placed neatly between my thighs. It 'aint happening!

4. Sleep deprivation starts looooong before you actually have a child 

I feel I speak for Ryan with this one too because there is no way he sleeps through my tossing and turning as I try, unsuccessfully, to find a comfortable position. The weight of said belly means that rolling over without waking up is impossible and I have to swap sides because at some stage I lose all feeling in one side so rolling over is mandatory. Don't get me started on the trips to the loo either. I'm now trying to co-ordinate my pee breaks with my position change. 

5. It takes 15min longer to get ready...this is because of all the cream!    

I started using stretch-mark cream the week I found out I was pregnant. I've now have leg/foot cream to help reduce the puffiness. And boob cream because I'm sure if anything is going to get stretched, it's these babies. Going from a 34B to a 38C is not normal. Then I still have my normal routine of applying body butter and moisturiser.  

6. Other people have claimed our baby as theirs 

It started at work. Little One is called 'Team Baby' and it snowballed from there. The ladies in the canteen at work (and lets face it, I spend more time there then behind my desk), love nothing more than giving my tummy a rub and asking "how's my baby boy doing today?". My friend Carol calls him "her child" and will often tell me off if I'm behaving inappropriately around "her child". I'm pretty sure when Little One is born it will be her voice he will be most familiar with. Carol is my unofficial Doula and dishes out great parental advice which often has me on the floor in stitches trying not to wet myself. 

7. I'm overtaken by the elderly when walking...anywhere

I can't walk as fast as I used to. This has become more noticeable each week when we do our Saturday shop because we now pay for an hour instead of our usual thirty minutes. And stairs? Well lets just say that there is a small lift that can fit two people at our local tube station and more often than not, I'm one of the two people in there. I generally share it with Dot, an 86yr woman from up the road. 

8. Talking to myself means I'm less weird now

If I'm working from home I could have a full conversation with Little One during the day. I talk about what we should have for dinner or perhaps something that I've found funny. When he kicks and moves about, I provide the running commentary about what he could possibly be doing in there. I used to talk to myself before I was pregnant, well, I'd mostly pretend I was being interviewed on Oprah as she interviewed me for her book club and we'd compare who should play me in a movie about my life. Doesn't everyone do that? 

All in all; we're now 14 weeks away from becoming parents and each day I'm filled more with excitement than I am with dread at how our lives are going to change. Everyone goes through their very own personal journey when they're pregnant and I'm a little sad that I've only got 14 weeks to go because, all in all, it's been magical and miraculous so far. 

Little One, Mommy and Daddy can't wait to meet you.  

What's in a name...

A lot. Apparently. 

It's really hard naming your future kin. It really is. Making a human-being isn't hard. Naming him is! Because it's for life. It's our entire identity. I was going to be called Shannon and Kerry was actually Bianca for two days until our folks changed it. No one actually calls me Sharon; it's Shaz, Sharrie or Shazza.

And I know our child will need a name that can have a nickname or be abbreviated in some way.  

The upside of my job is that I get to spend a lot of time with all sorts of people from all over the globe. So I've been exposed to a lot of different names. I'm also exposed to a lot of unsolicited advice but one golden nugget came from a gentlemen, who shall remain nameless and in a pretty senior post in our company, upon finding out we are having a boy advised "...just make sure you don't give him some earth-friendly, tree hugging name, like Aspen, people will need to take him seriously one day in 30yrs time when he starts working, so don't make him sound like a prat, unless he does actually end up working for Greenpeace, then he's covered.".

So that's Aspen off the list then. 

I relay this conversation to Ryan about making sure that our future man child needs to have a name that will demonstrate strength of character and command respect. I think that's when the pressure mounted. And obviously we're not capable of making this decision on our own so we enlist the help of family and friends when we see them and gauge their reaction to our short list of baby boy names. This is often met with blank stares, suggestions of their own or sometimes just outright ridicule.

I've become very friendly with another pregnant woman at work and we've had the baby-naming conversation: she and her husband have nailed it "we know what we want to call our son, we're just not telling anyone until he's actually here." kudos to them, that's how we should've played it. 

But alas the baby-naming boat has sailed. 

We acquired some library books in our quest to navigate our way around the task - thanks to Angelique. The last time we ventured into Southfields library was to vote in the Summer of 2012. It's great knowing that we're having a boy as we were able to move through the alphabet in one sitting but while we were in bed, so naturally I fell asleep after ten minutes. By dawn Ryan had a shortlist. Along with some really insightful knowledge; we can't have a complicated first name as our child would go through life having to spell both this and his surname. 

So that's Sebastian, Bartholomew and Zachariah shelved.   

We're lucky that his surname will obviously be Smethurst because we'll never have to worry about creating a social faux pas like Neil Dunn, Justin Case, Rick O'Shea or Willie Seawell. 

So as I head into my 27th week of pregnancy we have around thirteen weeks to shorten our shortlist and test run a couple of names. Ryan and I both agree that we'll also wait until he arrives to see which name suits him best. 

For now he remains Little One. 

Another year older...

When you're little you live for two things; your Birthday and Christmas. And you count the amount of sleeps between the two. I always felt very sorry for friends who had birthdays so close to Christmas - you had to wait so loooong until it rolled around again. 

When Kerry and I were younger we'd play this little game the night before our birthdays, it went something along the lines of; "today is the last day you will have breakfast being 8yrs old"..."this is the last night you will be sweet sixteen"...and so on. 

Well yesterday brought back all those memories and so many people mentioned it when wishing me a Happy Birthday. My birthday next year is going to be very different. This will be my last as not a mother. My Dad's comment hit the spot though; "...in future you'll have to eat all the wonderful things that are made, especially for you, on your birthday..." chuckle chuckle chuckle. Thanks Dad. 

So I was no Master Chef in the kitchen at 6yrs old. 

Time really does fly though, I remember my birthday parties at Rita's Place, the nursery school I went to in SA. Having a birthday in August sucked as none of the kids liked hanging around outside to eat cake and sweets and play in the winter sunshine. I also used to live, not only for my birthday party but for my cousin Sean's too; he used to have the most amazing parties growing up; pony rides up and down the street, weird magicians and jumping castles. Granted the jumping castle was at his 18th birthday party but no matter. 

I remember my little brother Steven's first birthday - he'd just learnt how to walk and we'd made the move from Jo'burg to Knysna a few days before. He now stands just over 6ft tall and turns 19 in December! As if I didn't feel old already. 

Ryan has often told me; as one of three growing up, all of whom were popular kids, when it came to going to birthday parties, Desray would pack them off with a card that had a R10.00 note in it and a big slab of chocolate. Now a Smethurst tradition with added inflation. 

But without a birthday, none of us would be here. They are definitely worth celebrating. Even if it means sitting back and taking stock of your life so far and never admitting your actual age. 

I turned 35 yesterday. At 25 I was thinking in another 5yrs and I'd be 30 (!!!). At 15 I met Richard whose remained a close friend. At 5 I had the most amazing Snow White and Seven Dwarf cake that my Mom made from scratch as she did with all our cakes growing up (until it became 'uncool'). A lot can happen in ten years and having lived just three and half decades, so far, I know that there is so much more to come.

Next year both Ryan and I will celebrate our birthdays very differently - we'll be parents. And although the concept of gift giving will be completely lost on Little One, I'm sure he's bound to get us something delightful...and non-edible. 

Me on my third birthday (I think?) with my little owl cake made by Mom 

Me on my first birth-day with my big sister Kerry...I'm the one in the crib!