Can morning sickness be glamorous?

It's no secret that I have been insanely sick this pregnancy. I've complained about it enough that I think most of the developed world has heard my whingeing. I had mild morning sickness when I was with child last time and managed to throw up three times, all whilst driving because I'm classy like that.

This time around though I've been heaving my guts up all freakin' day long. And all bloody night, too - I have a weird internal clock that has me waking up to spew at midnight at least three times a week.

My old tag line when I created this blog used to be "unbrushed hair, bags under the eyes and the faint scent of baby spew". If you remove the word baby, I'm right fucking back where I started! The result of all this, other than my long lost collar bones making an appearance, is that I look haggard.

So, because the whole Glow thing is quite obviously avoiding me yet again, I thought I'd ask the question... can constant puking  be made a little more, well, glamorous? And I figured for my experiment that accessorizing was the way to go:

I covered my spew bag with stick on diamontes because you can never have enough bling. I found this perfect for a night out, particularly when I matched the diamontes specifically to to my earrings and necklace. No need to keep this little baby tucked away in your handbag, when it looks this good, spew bags on the table at all times!

Considering that standing up in a shower makes me feel like I'm about the faint, the ol' hair is looking a tad neglected. In the morning it's scraped up in to a bun and by afternoon half of it's fallen out and I can't be arsed putting it back. So I whipped out a headband - but not just any headband, one with a giant flower on it. I took my cue for this from the massive range of maternity wear that has frills and shit on it - because apparently a preggo belly isn't feminine enough without prissy bows and bloody flowers.

If you have to suck back on Maxolon or some other anti-nausea tablet every five hours then you have to have them with you at all times. Now a blister pack just isn't on trend, is it? I have chucked mine (pun intended) in to my faux leather purse and Wonder Woman tin which may or may not still smell slightly of tobacco leaves from when I was a smoker. If your tin still smells of tobacco, I suggest you wash it thoroughly less you vomit every time you open it from the arsey scent of stale five year old leaves.

So after all this *ahem* highly scientific research, I can safely tell you that no amount of bling, flowers or funky pill holders will make morning sickness glamorous... but fuck me, a blingin' spew bag gets so much attention!

Gimme your morning sickness cures. Anyone who says give birth gets a high five in the face with a chair.

The blog post to break the blog break

OHAI! Fancy seeing you here! Long time no see. Or write. Or read. Whatever.

It has been a while, indeed. I gave myself a lovely bloggy break over Christmas and New Year and if I'm completely honest I Loved the time off. See that? Capital L, Loved. I adore blogging but I also really enjoyed living in the moment without the constant ticking over of my brain thinking "I could totally blog the crap outta this". It was all Zen and shit.

But how exactly does one come back from an extended blog break? And yes, I consider a month extended because the blogosphere moves so damn quick if you blink you've missed 300,000 posts and your Google Reader is bursting at the seams.

There are just so many strings of stories running through my head from the last month that they're all jumbling up together and looking like a failed Cat's Cradle that is in dire need of being cut off your fingers because they're starting to turn purple.

Maybe I should tell you about the pest inspector man who came and out of nowhere started banging on about how religious people were ruining the world and how I should really start hitting Tricks if I wanted him to grow up right? What, right like you, pal? Errmmm no.

Or maybe I should mention that on Boxing Day we went out to Map Guy's Aunty and Uncle's farm and we all got to have a go in a gigantic bloody harvester? I could even tell you how we actually had to jump-start it from the Land Cruiser first because it had a flat battery and how I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined jump starting a machine that could have cut us all up so fast it would put Dexter to shame.

But that just won't do. Even a giant mofo harvester is not big enough to break a blog break.

So instead, I'll cut to the chase and mention that I've been really sick. I've been spending a lot of time in bed over the last month and even more time with my head hung over a toilet bowl calling for Ruth. Because I'm in The John Hurt Way again.

Yep, my friends, that is how you come back from a blog break with a bang.

Spawn2.0 is currently taking up prime uterine real estate at this very moment and causing this Mama to be sucking back on Maxolon like they're orange flavoured Tic Tacs. Sadly they've done almost nothing for me and I spend most of my days wallowing in self pity and complaining to Map Guy that it is cruel and unusual punishment to be starving hungry and aversive to food all at the same time all the while clutching my spew bucket. Classy.

Cletus the Fetus has already managed to give us a scare with a suspected ectopic, on my bloody birthday no less (yeah remember that appendix thing on Facebook? Yeah, that was a fabulous night). On a side note, you go straight to the front of the triage list and personally escorted to a private nook of the emergency room and filled with tubes if you rock up preggers with a pain in your side, a previous ectopic on your file and only one fallopian tube.

We were going to wait until the obligatory 12/13 weeks but I am terrible at keeping my own secrets (tell me yours and I'll take 'em to the grave, but mine? BLABBERMOUTH!). It turns out Map Guy is terrible at keeping secrets too, because at work when he announced it on Friday half the office knew already after he'd blurted it out after a few drinks at the office Christmas party.

It truly has been the worst kept secret. Half the Perth Blogging scene had a suspicion when I wasn't drinking at the W.O.M.B.A.T. Chrissie shin dig because hello, free drinks. I had to tell my work early on because it's caused my chronic pain condition to flare uncontrollably and I'm unable to stand up for a whole shift any more without the need for major drugs and a weeklong stay in bed.

But despite my body not doing the whole hormone thing too well, I'm happy. And when Tricks rubs my belly and leans in to kiss the baby I'm deliriously happy. He says it's a boy and it's name should be Spotty Dog or Tractor.

So it does appear that 2013 will be a big year. I can't wait and I'm shit scared at the same time.

But what I want to know, what I've always wanted to know, is WHERE'S MY FUCKING GLOW? 

Mummy, where do babies come from?

This week at work I had a rather startling experience. When someone says “My job means I get to meet people from all walks of life” I wonder if they could actually meet as wide a selection as I get to meet at my place of employment. I'm a freelance makeup artist but for regular income I work in a pharmacy just outside the city, and you meet people not just from every walk of life, but every crawl, skip, hop and jump of life. Not a single day goes by there without some sort of interesting person popping in for a chat – we've had the usual pharmacy suspects – elderly, young parents, drug addicts etc, but because of our location we also tend to get a few “Perthonalities” from TV and football. It can get very hard not to stare at the footballer's legs while their waiting for their medication.

Most of the time they chat and even call me by name (I wear a name badge - it's not that they like me so much they remember me), we exchange pleasantries with more often than not them asking about Tricky while I pretend to not know who they are or what medications they take. Oh that's for impotence... wow!

But then you have those days when it's not the pseudo celebrities that are the highlight. Last week one of the 'regulars', Justine (not her real name) a lovely male to female transgender, came in. We normally chat about all sorts of things ranging from boring weather to the latest makeup trends. She's fantastic and bubbly, always brightening my day. But this time was different. Justine started asking me all sorts of questions about pregnancy. I didn't mind at all and started blabbering away, happy for someone who actually wanted to listen. However when the questions changed to include such gems as “How did you know you were pregnant? What symptoms should I look out for?” I nearly fell over. I didn't know how to reply!

I have absolutely no proof the Justine was delusional and asking for herself – she may have been asking on behalf of a friend or even a daughter. But that didn't matter, because in those few nanoseconds half of my brain seized up and decided not to do any more thinking. “How long did you have morning sickness for?” she asked me. I had it for around 13 weeks but do you think I could say that? With half a brain out of action all I could manage to say was “forever”. She laughed and waited for the real answer to come... it didn't. I was gobsmacked. A sudden influx of customers and I was too busy to finish our conversation – I've never been so relieved in my life!

I suppose it is better though than the intellectually disabled lady who in her own way of wishing me luck said to me at 25 weeks, “Gee, I hope you don't have a miscarriage”.

Ommmm

Apparently birthing a baby (as opposed to delivering one, because that just sounds like I could stick Tricky in an express post bag and drop him in to the nearest post office) is a rather physical job that can require hours of strange positions leading to physical exhaustion. So what's a gal with no Glow and even less muscle tone to do? Prenatal Yoga, that's what!

I wasn't sure what to expect as I attended my very first yoga session ever with YogaSpace. Would there be incense and candles? Chanting and singing the praises of the glorious womb? Would all the other women be really experienced, getting their ankles behind their heads? And just how unattractive would I look in leggings?

The first of my fears were allayed when the instructor Janelle explained a few of the basic rules of the class:

1. if it hurts, stop
2. if you think its about to start hurting, stop
3. if you feel dizzy, stop
4. if you need to go to the toilet, go
5. if you need to keep some snacks beside you, do it
6. if you want some help, ask
7. if you need to throw up, see point 4

By a show of hands it was determined that only two participants had done any yoga before, so that meant that me and the fifteen other women in the class were in the same boat, namely, the S.S. Nofreakinclue. So we all felt as stupid and uncoordinated as each other and heaved a sigh of relief that we weren't 'the only one'.

The class focussed on lots of pelvic floor exercises combined with breath control. It was easier for those of us in the class that were in the first and second trimesters and therefore still had room in our chest cavities for lungs. The positions, whilst strange to a newbie like me weren't painful (even after standing up all day at work) or the least bit contortionist-like and I found myself actually enjoying it! I even rather liked being in a room full of pregnant bellies, all beautiful and round.

Namaste

After an hour and a half of saluting the sun and doing the downward dog (is it just me or do they sound a bit sexy?) it was time to finish, and what better way than a cup of camomile tea and TIM TAMS! Sure beats gluten-free, wheat-free, caffeine-free (read taste-free) lumps of crud that I was half expecting from a place that has a strict policy of no classes on a full or new moon.

I'm really glad I enjoyed it, not just because I paid upfront and have nine more sessions to go, but because its going to help me give birth. If it happens to tone up my massive bum a bit, then even better.

An A-Z of Pregnancy Part II

Kicks – Tricky is an active little bub, but I really have no idea if what I feel are kicks, punches, general position changes or what. So I prefer to think of him as playing skippy with the umbilical cord, doing a work out routine (possibly using my kidneys as free weights to shed that baby fat) or playing air guitar.

Linea Nigra – This is the name of the dark line that women can get during pregnancy, that runs from the belly button down to the pubic bone. Mine is starting to get darker now and looks like someone has taken a brown texta and drawn on me, perfectly cutting my abdomen in half. It serves no purpose other than a nice reminder that our bodies will never be the same again.

Mothers' Day – This year Mothers' Day falls on May 9^th, a few weeks before I'm due. Do you think I'll get a present from Hubby? Hrmmm?

Nutrition – If I ate the amount of food recommended by the guides and nutritionists I'd be looking like Augustus Gloop from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Six serves of this, five servings of that every day. I've always had a healthy appetite but this is ridiculous! I don't know anyone who can ingest that much food without having to go to hospital for emergency stomach pumping. I might be eating for two but Tricky only weighs 500grams right now, its not like he's wanting a rump steak all to himself.

Obstetrician – My Obstetrician is a lovely old Chinese gentleman. And that is not a term I throw around willy nilly, he is truly a gentle soul. During visits while he is waiting for the ultrasound machine to come out of sleep mode, or for the blood pressure monitor to beep its result, he hums. Hubby has no idea what they are but thanks to twelve years of Catholic education I can recognise them as hymns. I'm not a religious person but knowing that he believes in a God as opposed to thinking that he is one, is reassuring.

Public Transport – I get to work via bus and train every morning and get a seat pretty much every time. Coming home is a different matter... only very occasionally will I get a seat after standing up all day at work. I lamented to a heavily pregnant friend that I couldn't wait to be a bit bigger so that people would actually see that I was preggers and offer me a seat, but she said that everyone just looks down and pretends they haven't seen you – and its TRUE! Passengers will pull their books up to their noses or get out their mobile phones and ignore not only me but the frail elderly woman who is eyeing me off, figuring out if she can get to the seat quicker than me or not, and if its safe to whack a pregnant woman in the shins with her cane. So far only one person has offered me their seat and she was on crutches! I couldn't take her seat off her though, but together we gave 'evil eyes' to the teenagers on the next bench.

Queasy – I still feel sick every now and again, mainly when I can smell food cooking. I've always had an “iron stomach” when it comes to seeing icky things but that seems to have gone along with my girlish figure. Walking from the train station the other day it was obvious someone had a rather big weekend by the trail of vomit they'd left behind – I had to hold my breath and run with my hand over my mouth to stop myself being sick!

Research – Like most first time mothers'-to-be I've been looking up websites, trawling the local library and getting my hands on every journal article I can find about pregnancy and birth. I'd say its because I'm trying to be a responsible parent and whilst that is partly true, its mainly because I know nothing and am freaking out a bit. There are so many options and even more opinions. I was reading one book about birthing the natural way and the author made so many valid points... until she wrote about how her moments old daughter remembered the umbilical cord being cut and how traumatic it was. My bullshit detector was making big woop woop woop noises at that one!

Stretch Marks – I have little white stretch marks already on my body from being a curvy gal, so I'm assuming that its like a stretch mark party and more are invited. But these suckers will be the big, fat, angry, red and purple ones. More stuff to look forward to... great. Can I buy shares in Bio Oil?

Where's My Glow?

You heard me, where is it? I was promised Glow. Get pregnant, get past the icky first bit and *bam* you'll Glow. Well I've passed it and now I'm bloody well over it. I don't look pregnant yet and my expanding tum could easily be attributed to either having just finished a big meal or putting on a few Christmas kilos a couple of weeks early. And the pimples? Don't even get me started on how spotty my face has become. I can see the look of delight in school children's faces as they see mine and think "a human dot to dot drawing, awesome!".

I'm now 17 weeks pregnant with "Tricky" and whilst I was prepared to feel awful for the first trimester it was all with the constant reassurance that pretty soon I would start to feel a bit better, start to enjoy being pregnant and LOOK PRETTY! Sure I was told the horror stories about friends of friends who were sick the entire time, but it was always followed with a "but they were different and I'm sure that won't happen to you", accompanied with the obligatory pitiful smile.

But I've gotten ahead of myself, lets go back to where it all began. Well not where it all began because that's too much information - and yes I'm looking glaringly at certain members of hubby's family right now.

I found out I was pregnant at what I though was 4 weeks but after a trip to the doctor turned out to be 8. I'd heard of this happening to people and had always thought "surely you'd know?!" and convinced myself that these women were morons who had no idea what their bodies were doing from one day to the next. You know the ones - the type that wake up with a baby on the bed and say "I just thought I was getting fat". Well turns out I'm one of those morons. This was quite some relief though because the thought of having to wait sooo long before telling people was already eating me up inside and as if by magic I now had 4 weeks less to wait! High fives all round!

The following ten weeks were full of constant nausea which I believe doctors call 'moring sickness', limiting it to just one small portion of your day, just so that the human race doesn't die out. Morning? How about all friggin day sickness. Its like a hangover that doesn't go away ALL DAY, EVERY DAY, without the fun shenanigans the night before to compensate in some small way. I only threw up once the whole time I felt like this, and luckily this was at the bus stop one morning in full view of about one hundred motorists as they drove by all smug in their non-vomit filled cars whilst hubby rubbed my back (obviously in shock that I had actually thrown up after threatening multiple times a day to do so for what seemed like ages now) told me the bus was coming, and did I want to catch the next one instead?

But it was the constant tiredness that really threw me. I'm the type of person who likes to sleep in and thinks whoever invented the Nanna Nap should be up for sainthood, but come on, sleeping for 12 hours straight and then being completely exhausted after only an hour or two of doing practically nothing? How do women with high powered jobs do this? And how on earth do women have more than one child? Is there some memory impairing hormone that is excreted the moment you give birth so that the icky first three months is wiped from our brains? (I'll get back to you on this one if we have another one).

I know the Glow exists, I'm sure I've seen it - or was that just in the movies? Perhaps I'll get it when my bump is noticeable? Maybe that's the key to the Glow? Or maybe its just a bit of bullshit invented to make pregnant women feel better about have little furnaces churning away inside them- "no, I'm not Glowing, that's just sweat on my brow".