Pregnancy SOS: A diary of a first time mum to be

Cinderella can suck it.

I’m acutely aware of a serious throbbing sensation at the side of my skull. With my eyes still closed, I frown and rotate my neck so that I’m facing the opposite way, with the hope that the stabbing pain eases.

It doesn’t.

I frown again and inhale deeply, oh God, all I can taste is blurgh, whatever that is, and my mouth feels like I’ve been eating sand.

Why...why would I have been eating sand??

“Morning sunshine.” I hear Gaz’s croaky voice say, however it sounds a long way off, kind of like an echo.

I wrinkle my nose and exhale as I try to decide if my frail body can muster a response. Hm.

I don’t think it can cope with it. I’m just about to decide that I can’t manage the effort when it occurs to me that my silence mixed with the horrific smell that’s currently lingering in the room may make him fear that I’m dead, so I take a deep breath and give it my best shot.

“Mmmm” I manage in response, pushing the boat out and stretching out my whole body as I do so.

Terrible idea – absolutely everything hurts. My muscles throb and my arms and legs feel like they’re made of lead, it hurts just to think about moving them, let alone actually putting any movement into action.

“Jesus, did I get hit by a bus?” I ask huskily, crunching my body up and resuming the foetal position as my throat burns in the aftermath of my spoken words.

“If you did, then I was right behind you babe” Gaz replies as he also stretches his muscles, accidentally jabbing me in the side with his spade hands as he does so. I wince as he does, and I can hear the pain in his voice at the end of his sentence as I swat his hand away, grabbing the covers and plonking them heavily over my head, hoping to block out the tiny bit of light that my closed eyes are allowing in.

Jesus f*****g Christ it’s blazingly bright outside, it’s meant to be new years’ day...winter, not f*****g summer.

The total blackout from the covers bring relief as I scrunch up my face and try to recall last night.

I remember seeing in the New Year, and I remember asking everyone in the room if they’d stolen my glass of wine. After 20 minutes of us all searching, we decided that the empty, dirty wine glass found abandoned on a living room chair must have been mine, and that I had drank said wine myself before disposing of the glass at my own convenience.

I remember Gaz telling me that we were going to have to walk being as there were no taxis available until 3AM. I also remember Molly saying that 3AM was in only 45 minutes, so we might as well book the taxi and have one last drink while we wait.

I frown, wishing the fog in my brain would bugger off. I don’t remember being in the taxi…in fact, I don’t actually remember leaving Emily’s house.

I vaguely remember being at home, and crying with laughter at something while I lay in bed. I have no idea what was so funny though.

I inhale deeply and try to swallow – it wasn’t a great idea as it gets stuck in my drier than the dessert throat, causing me to choke on my own spit. Beautiful. “Baby, are you okay?” I hear Gaz ask from above the covers. I hate that he sounds much better than I feel, the lucky sod.

I give him a feeble noise in response, hoping he understands that I’m okay, and that I’m in no fit state for idle conversation. I listen to the nothing, half comatose and I hear the clicking noise of his game and register that he’s playing his new obsession game on his phone – how can he even cope with that? Phones are so bright and he must be feeling as s**t as I am right now, surely. He drank just as much as I did, didn’t he?

“Do you want some water?” he asks, turning his body, I’m assuming to face my direction. The motion turns my stomach, and for a brief second, I worry I’m going to lose last nights’ cheese nibbles and Pringles while I lie under the covers. “Babe!” I protest weakly and pathetically in annoyance, “gentle on the movement or you’ll be cleaning my vomit” I warn sincerely. I feel him getting out of bed – more gently this time and I remain perfectly still, staying in the foetal position as I listen to the bedroom door open, and his footsteps head towards the bathroom.

I’m then blessed with having to listen to him pee loudly – seriously, why can’t men pee in silence?! I swear I can hear him pee upstairs while I’m in the kitchen, a floor below the bathroom.

After flushing the toilet (ouch, my head), I hear the tap running, followed by more footsteps, the bedroom door opening again and the tell-tale plonk of a glass on my bedside table before his footsteps walk around the bed, back to his side. “Liquid nourishment for my angel” he says, jumping heavily into bed, obviously forgetting the ‘be gentle’ rule I had just put in place.

My stomach turns again, and I take a deep breath, counteracting the movement, and willing my body to move.

So much hard work, but it’ll be worth it when I feel that magical liquid gold flowing down my throat, giving me a new lease of life.

Tentatively, I manage to sit myself up and rest my poorly, pounding head on the pillow as every muscle I just used burns in angry protest. I turn towards my bedside table and reach over with shaking hands to the life-saving pint glass of water next to me.

I intended to sip it slowly, however after that first timid sip and the relief it brings to my fragile body, I end up downing the whole pint in less than 30 seconds with big greedy gulps. I put the empty glass down clumsily on my bedside table and look over at Gaz, who’s staring at me with his eyebrows raised and a slight smile on his face.

I squint at him through sore eyes and after a few seconds he interrupts the silence and smirks “you look so sexy right now.”

I blink in response and take a deep, shaky breath, “I feel it too” I reply, attempting to smile while putting my hand on my aching forehead.

I lie back down gently and we lounge in bed, chatting idly for the next half an hour, before Gaz declares that it’s time to drag our arses out of bed and do something semi productive with the day.

I agree with absolutely no enthusiasm and watch lazily as he gets out of bed and gets dressed. Once he’s put his t-shirt on, he looks over at me and laughs, “come on lazy bones, I’ll go and put the kettle on” he promises, walking out of the room, opening the curtains wide and allowing the killer daylight into the room as he leaves. I wince involuntarily in response, remembering with fondness the time that I had functioning corneas. “Bell-end” I mutter as I slowly open my eyes to allow them to adjust to the brightness. Once my vision has adjusted, I hazily look around the room and drag my sorry self out of the bed. I stumble over to my dresser and heavily drop my body on the chair, leaning close to the mirror to inspect the damage.

“Jesus” I mutter, looking at my reflection with wide, bloodshot eyes. It’s bad – my hair looks as though birds could nest in it, my foundation has gone blotchy as though I’ve been out in heavy rain (although I can’t recall any rain), I have lipstick smeared across my cheek and on my two front teeth, one of my false lashes are long gone and my mascara and eyeliner have ran everywhere, making me look like a panda who’s been sobbing hysterically.

I sigh deeply, grab a hair brush and walk to the bathroom, removing last night’s clothes that I was obviously in no state to remove when I got home and I turn on the shower. Ah well, there goes my dignity I think as I bend down to take my pants off, farting loudly as I do so before straightening up and stepping into the shower.