I'm baaaaack!

I know. It's been such a long time since I posted on here.

Pregnancy is new to me and I've learnt a few lessons over the past few weeks.

Mainly, that being pregnant is incredibly tiring! I've been so tired. I've had no energy. I've felt nauseous to the point of wanting the world to open up and swallow me... and yet, I feel like the luckiest woman alive!

I'm feeling much more like my usual self now and I'm beginning to get my energy back - a great reason to celebrate!

Anyway, while I was away, wedged somewhere between my ample sofa cushions, I've been touched and heartened by several messages from some lovely ladies who I've 'met' in the cyber-inter-global-hyper-mega-web world, letting me know that they've noticed my absence and wishing me well. You know who you are and I thank you from my heart's bottom.

OK, so I'll leave this post for the time being... But I just wanted to give a big wave hello and step, tentatively, back into the world of blogging, gently!

I'll be back for more!

Soon-to-be-Mummy B

Pushing my imagination...

I have to laugh at myself sometimes.

Yesterday, while venturing upstairs to climb out of my (becoming way too) tight work trousers and into my (so deliciously, slouchily) comfy tracky bottoms, I found myself standing sideways looking at my profile in the full length mirror.

Without even thinking about it, I'd pushed out my stomach as far as I could (without risking some kind of toilet-related accident) to see what I'm going to look like in just a few short months, sporting a baby-bump.

And aside from being slightly dismayed that my current midriff is large enough to make that image look alarmingly real, I was really rather pleased (not to mentioned amused by my own antics) with what I saw!

I stopped short of padding out my hubster's jumper with a pillow and plodding downstairs, hand in the small of my back, to show hubs what he has to look forward to... but only just.

I know it's wishing time away, which I really do try not to do because time moves too frighteningly quickly on its own, but I am so excited about seeing my bump take shape and displaying it proudly in months to come...

Oh come on! Surely I'm not alone!?

A constant state of sleep

Why does sleep insist on consuming me completely at the moment?

Everything in my life (and yes, I mean everything) is suffering due to my lack of energy and my constant need to sleep.

I can't find the motivation to work properly, tidy up, wash up, hang out the washing (let alone put another load on... this one's been hanging around in the machine for approximately 36.5 hours!), make the bed (what's the point, I'll only be back in it in 37 minutes), read the blogs I follow (and this I feel terrible about), write a blog (again, terrible...), have a shower (I think the neighbours will begin to complain shortly about the musty smell and the slightly greasy residue left everywhere from my hair) or cook the tea (oh for that to mean I'd lose some weight - yeah right!).

And as a direct result, my brain appears to be turning to mush. I'm forgetting the most obvious things and failing at the easiest of household chores - all due to this constant need for sleep.

But then, when I do manage to clamber into bed looking my most attractive ever (honest!) I manage to wake myself up everytime I turn over (due to the massively sore boobs I'm currently sporting like some overinflated bouys upfront!).

What can a woman do!?

Will I even manage to finish this poszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Wha? Sorry! Right, I'm awake... Best go make hay while the sun shines (she says, staring at the p*ssing rain out of the window).

Help! How did you cope with the constant need to sleep during early pregnancy? (Or, for the men out there, what coping strategies did your partner adopt?

Sore body parts

Ouch!

I know it's seriously early in my pregnancy (I'm five weeks today!) but some of the symptoms of early pregnancy are already setting in with a vengeance!

I'm feeling slightly bloated and have begun to lose my appetite around 4pm every day (no sign of the dreaded nausea yet *touches wood and whistles*) but the one thing that has really set me on edge this week has been the soreness of a certain part of my anatomy... my, erm... well, my *coughs uncomfortably*... my... OK, OK, my boobs!

I have the sorest boobs in the whole world!

According to the amazing pregancy book I'm reading at the moment - What to expect when you're expecting - I should be experiencing some breast pain... In fact, and I quote:

"Tender breasts and nipples. You know that tender, achy feeling you get in your breasts before you period arrives? That's nothing compared to the breast tenderness you might be feeling post-conception." What to expect when you're expecting, Heidi Murkoff, p14.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - ouch! This is definitely no ordinary soreness. I'm having problems doing ordinary, everyday things, purely due to the soreness of my pups.

It hurts to walk... so it would definitely hurt to run (not that I'm a runner, but this is just one more excuse not to take it up now!)
It hurts to turn over in bed.
It hurts to walk up the stairs any slower than at snail's pace.
It hurts to walk down the stairs full stop.
It hurts to lift anything.
It hurts to clap (who knew!)
Flippin' heck, it even hurts to laugh sometimes!

How can two such innocuous items cause so much pain!? I have to say, this is one aspect of pregnancy I definitely wasn't expecting! (I'm sure there will be many more that I'll find out about over the next eight months or so!).

But, by way of making me feel better, Ms Murkoff adds:

"...and as your pregnancy progresses, it could get even more pronounced. Make that a lot more pronounced."

GREAT!

A very tender Potential Mummy B

Tears for Cheryl...

So nobody warned me, so early in my pregnancy, that my hormones would start going haywire and I'd be all over the place! Thanks everyone! No, really!

Just yesterday, when hubs had gone out to 'do secret stuff' ('tis my birthday today!) I was all snuggled up on the sofa after a hard day at work, flicking through the channels looking for something to watch. I settled on an old episode of 'How clean is your house?' as this always makes me feel good and superior, even while I sit amidst this morning's tea cups, last week's washing and last year's dust.

Just as I started to watch, the adverts came on. I'm not a fan of adverts - mostly I refuse to watch them, which is why I record everything, then I can merely 'timeslip' through them - one of the wonders of modern technology in my eyes! But today I couldn't. So I found myself sitting through countless insurance adverts (I'm fully insured thanks), adverts for dog food (I don't have any pets) and annoying ditties about banks (I've had it up to here *signals the sky* with financial institutions).

Finally, and worst of all in my opinion, came a L'Oreal advert featuring Cheryl Cole... Now I'm not a Ms Cole fan. I am, as near as damn it, a geordie girl myself and yet I feel no affinity to her at all. Having said that, I don't think this is THE WORST advert in the world. Sure Chez is too cheesy for words and hams up her already over the top accent (we don't all speak like that, I promise, most of us prefer a gentle, lilting intonation of geordie), but I ask you, is it enough to make me burst into tears at the very sight of her for no apparent reason?

I would say, probably not. But no-one told my hormones that! There I was, at 5pm, broad daylight, full-on blabbing at an advert for hair shampoo - will someone please tell me what is going on!?

Hormones - gotta love 'em. And I guess I'm just going to have to get used to it for the next few months... *sigh*

A very hormonal (but secretly stupidly happy about the whole situation),

Potential Mummy B

It's such a perfect day

I've finally arrived! I've been tagged in my first ever Meme and I love it.

The following post is my response to the Meme started by the very lovely Becky at Single Mummy. So here's my idea of a 'perfect day'. *Note, this hasn't actually happened!

My perfect day...

I wake, squinting as the morning light picks its way through the curtains. Sleep slips from me slowly as I turn to find a steaming hot cup of tea beside my bed, placed there by my gorgeous husband who, I can hear, is already in the shower.

I stretch and sit up in my comforting bed to enjoy the delicious fruits of his labour.

When S finishes in the shower he pads through to our bedroom, hair ruffled and soggy towel around his waist, to find me tucking hungrily into a compelling book, one of my birthday surprises.

We get ready to face the day together, go downstairs and consume a hearty breakfast with more tea, the radio on in the background, and chat about the day ahead.

Today is no ordinary day. Today is the day we take the pregnancy test.

After the sadness of our miscarriage in December we face an agonising wait to see if this is the month that our successful pregnancy will begin. The heartache of previous months still lies close to the surface of my mind as I consider the potential of another month passing by unfertilised.

I push those thoughts to the back of my mind because today marks a full week from the date my period was due. Surely that means we've fallen this month?

The test is all ready. Sitting patiently in the bathroom cabinet, waiting to tell us our fate. We bought a double pack a few days ago in readiness for this morning. Should we wait another week to be sure? I can't, I decide, the excitement and nerves are too much.

So, the time has come.

We turn off our mobiles, lock the front door and switch on the answer machine. This is no time to be distracted by buzzing messages or annoying cold calls.

So, the test is carried out and we place it on the side in the bathroom, obeying the instructions to the letter for fear it may change the outcome if we don't.

Finally the time counts down and we look at the results. We both hold our breath, grasp each other's hand and try to think over the top of the combined noise of our beating hearts. This is it, the moment of truth.

It's positive! I'm definitely pregnant. We start to breathe again and I squeal as I jump up and wrap my arms around hubs' neck. We've done it! This is the month, we're having a baby.

This time, where terror and indecision gripped me last time, joy and relief are the overriding emotions rushing through my mind. This is it. This time it's meant to be.

The rest of the day passes in a flash as hubs and I dance with emotions, flirt with thoughts for the future and tentatively make plans for the next few days. There's so much to do. Doctors to see, families to tell, excitement to deal with.

In the meantime, hubs and I spend time together, chatting about the future, making plans and coming to terms with the reality of becoming parents.

This is the day that my life as a Mummy begins in earnest. Perfect.

*****

Now it's your turn. I've chosen three lovely bloggers to take part in this 'Perfect Day' Meme:

It's a Mummy's Life
VegemiteVix
Very Bored in Catalunya

Have fun!

Technology... just for fun

I found a really interesting (and probably more fun than helpful) application on my iPod Touch the other day.

I'm not sure where I got the idea to search for it from, but when I typed 'menstrual calendar' into the Touch, up popped a strange and fun little application:

It's great! It asks you your cycle length, the date of the first day of your period and then predicts your ovulation date and tells you when you'll be most fertile! The dates when you're at your most fertile and the day your egg pops is even highlighted in pink - you can't miss it!!

It also lets you enter data about when you have sex and how long your period lasts! Like I say, I'm not sure how accurate it can possibly be when it only goes on the data you input. But what they hey!? It's fun and it provides a bit of a distraction while I'm waiting for that special pink day to come along!

Potential Mummy B

And so it begins again

One of the things someone said to me after we lost our first pregnancy was 'you'll just have to brush yourself off and start again'. At the time I let that comment sail straight over the top of my head and thought very little of it. Later that day, however, just a day or two after the fateful hospital trip, the flippancy of that statement hit me full on in the stomach; it hurt.

It hurt that someone could, intentionally or not, assume that I could just forget about that 'little setback' and move on as swiftly as if it never happened. As I've stated in earlier blogs, I'm not going to sit around and wallow in self pity over this, having it impact negatively on every aspect of my life. But equally I'm not just going to forget it ever happened. Like a number of events in my life so far, painful and irreversibly damaging they may be to my outer shell, they contribute more than anyone could ever imagine to my very being. These experiences make me who I am today and, without sounding obnoxious, I happen to like who I am today, thank you very much.

Potential Mummy B

You shall not pass...

In between Christmas and New Year, the week following our early miscarriage we had, through our extremely diminutive doctor at the Accident and Emergency, made an appointment with the gynaecological department at our local hospital. Fresh from the upset of our loss and still reeling from the general furore that is Christmas chez nous, another trip to the hospital was pretty far down on my 'things I'd like to do today' list.

But a trip to the hospital was necessary so off we went, nerves a-jangling and anxiety in tow. I had no idea what to expect. All I'd been told was that Dr D had spoken to the gynae department on Christmas Eve and they'd advised me to go along.

Thankfully we didn't have to wait around too long. The waiting room was, in any case, warm and welcoming after the skatey, slippy fest we'd just witnessed outside the front door. Our first port of call was a consultation room, within which waited two ladies in hospital uniforms.

To say the atmosphere in this room was a little different from the waiting area would be an understatement. The talky lady (for the other uttered not one word) called me in. Hubby and I obediently stood and made our way into the room. At least we would have done if 'Talky' hadn't blocked my husband's path in the style of a miniature and slightly rotund Gandalf in the Fellowship of the Rings (picture the 'You shall not pass' moment and you're just about there!).

"And you are?" she growled up at him from a level roughly around his waistline. She may have been small but she was remarkably frightening nonetheless.

"Oh, er... sorry, this is my husband," I offered, trying to diffuse the situation. She huffed and gruffed a little as if the sight of a supportive husband wishing to accompany his wife into the unknown was offensive to her. Not a good start.

After being seated and looking on as Talky and Sitty appeared to conduct a full blown conversations in looks, paper shuffling and weird gutteral noises, I wondered what the hell we'd walked into. Talky began to ask questions, pen poised over the aforementioned paperwork to note down my answers. Each of the questions, although benign in their nature, were spat at me in such a manner as to catch me off-guard like a volley of flying hobbit daggers. I didn't expect the Spanish inquisition (cue a torrent of Monty Python quotations!).

It turned out that Talky and Sitty had no idea why we were there and how we had come to have an appointment. Unable to provide a suitable answer I merely gabbled on about Christmas Eve and the fact that the hospital doctor had sent us... perhaps just to check all was well?

With that, and a distinct lack of ceremony we were kicked out of the consulting room and back into the waiting area. Thankful to be alive and with all our limbs we sank back into the seats to await our next test.

After a scan and a very nice 'talking to' by another nurse with the smallest voice in the world we were sent home with miscarriage literature and the reassurance that none of this was our fault. Talky had turned out to be human after all, once she realised that we weren't just there wasting her time, and had talked to us softly and delicately about any questions we may have and to reiterate that we weren't at fault. This was my body's way of telling us it wasn't meant to be this time.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the human body is the most amazing thing. Sometimes it hurts and goes against our very dreams and desires... but there is always a very good reason for everything, at least in my experience so far.

Until the next time,

Potential Mummy B

Humour in every situation?

There haven't been many horrible events in my life. I am pretty much the luckiest woman in the world (at least in my view).

OK, so every now and then there's been the odd hiccough that has caused me to wobble slightly on this low beam of life. Once or twice I've even had to put my foot down for balance before readjusting the waistline of my jeans, taking a deep breath, straightening my hair and carrying on.

So... the miscarriage issue. I've spoken about it with family and friends, sometimes when all I've wanted to do is crawl into a hole and cry until the tears have dried up, I've read about other people's experiences, I've cried in the dark with my husband's arms around me, I've kept a sort of diary to act as an outlet for my emotions and I've blogged about it.

I've also found humour in a difficult situation.

That doesn't make me a callous person. I'm sure I can't be the only person on earth that tries to maintain a sense of humour (albeit sometimes restrained and kept carefully in check by the realms of decency and decorum) no matter the situation. While I always respect the power of other people's emotions and the need to pander to 'the right thing to do' I think I use my humour as a kind of coping mechanism. And a very effective one it has proved to be thus far.

The four and half hours spent at the hospital on Christmas Eve were some of the longest of my life. My husband and my marvellous Mum were with me and shared these hours, along with some of the comic moments hidden therein. It must be the writer in me that notices things, finds humour in them, develops them in a secret word laboratory in my brain and stores them for consideration at a later date.

Even before I was seen by nurse or doctor my brain was hunting out ways of making the unplanned and enormously unwelcome hospital trip a little more palatable. I started off by watching my fellow inhabitants of the waiting room, thanking all things good that I wasn't in as bad shape as they were. I needed the loo and got all but there (try not to picture me literally hovering in a state of readiness) before realising they'd probably want a urine sample so having to instruct my body, rather hastily, that there had been a last second change of plan... pelvic muscles to the rescue! All good practice.

So, having given said sample and had my blood pressure taken, the next few hours passed without much incident. I mean, once I'd been taken through to the 'cubicles' we were simply hemmed in with enormously fetching disposable curtains and left like battery chickens to await the arrival of a doctor.

There were various comings and going throughout this time which kept me and my faithful companions entertained (sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a gruelling way) but eventually our doctor arrived. Maybe it's a sign of my age, but it is incredibly disconcerting when, in your hour(s) of need and nerves, the doctor assigned to you looks no more than, and I exaggerate not, 12 years old! My pint-sized nephew of a handful of years would compare favourably with this doctor in an 'I can reach further up the wall than you can' head to head! She could barely reach up to me as I lay (yes, lay) on my surprisingly comfortable trolley, and she certainly didn't seem one hundred per cent comfortable in her 'bedside manner' routine.

My heart did go out to her however, when she obviously thought she was breaking some unexpected news about my miscarriage. While my heart hammered at the speed of the Starlight Express within me and tears welled up in my rose-tinted eyes, I still found myself thinking how uncomfortable she looked telling me I was no longer pregnant. Rabbit in headlights move aside... she was more of a gremlin (the cute one, before midnight) caught in the act of raiding the kitchen for a midnight feast.

The way she went about my 'after care' made me slightly worried that she was totally unsure about what to do next. She kept disappearing from sight, handling the curtain around my trolley like it was a precious, fragile metal, tip-toeing around in her Skechers' Shape-up trainers (which incidentally look more like orthopedic shoes... just me?), making surreptitious phone calls as if appealling to some kind of reference source... all confidence inducing merits in a doctor I find!?

Finally I was asked by Dr Diminutive to produce another urine sample. She wanted to see my pregnancy test 'with her own eyes' apparently. So I went, plastic pot in hand, to find a toilet and do as I was bade. When I found a toilet (a quest in itself) my mind was reeling with the events of the evening, the feelings of stupidity alluded to in my earlier blog entry, the disappointment of my situation and the tiny stature of my 'doctor' that, before I knew it, I had used the toilet for its utility but had forgotten to store any in my pot!

Long moments passed as I tried to work out my next steps. Such a straightforward task made infinitely complicated by mere emotions! It was with a heavy but somewhat giggling heart that I padded back to my trolley, resplendent in my hospital gown and socks, to tell Mum and hubby of my slight cock up. "We only need a tiny bit," offered one of the nurses, trying to be helpful. "Really, I used it all up without realising," came my weak and somewhat embarrassed reply.

Half an hour and several cups of water later I managed to deliver and was thus sent home to settle into Christmas. My arrival behind my own front door brought the inevitable fall of the game face and the onset of tears but, without a bitter outlook, that Christmas Eve in the hospital is one I shall never forget.

For both good and bad reasons.

Potential Mummy B

The news sinks in...

Yesterday's blog was a toughy to write.

Today's is going to be just as difficult... but my view? This is a cathartic exercise for me. For those who might stumble across my humble blog, it may strike up a glimmer of recognition of feelings past or present. Or it may just act as (I hope) an interesting read. 

Whatever the outcome, my early miscarriage happened over a month ago and, although the feelings are still hot and painful if I think too hard or if something reminds me of them, I do not regard this as being the end of my world and I am certainly trying not to feel sorry for myself. I realise that people all over the world go through much, much worse than an early miscarriage (I know a few personally) but stuff like this hurts like hell on a purely personal basis.

Since I came home from the hospital, hand in hand with my precious husband, I have experienced a whole host of emotions (some driven by crazy hormones, some merely a spiritual reaction to our loss).

I've found myself longing to be pregnant again. Even though I only found out I was pregnant three days before it ceased to be, my sense of loss, as well as that of my husband, is shockingly profound. While my 'baby' was merely a clump of cells, to me it was a child, my child. An image of me and my husband. A beautiful life in waiting.

Floods of tears have engulfed me (and hubby if he were standing too close at the time) on countless occasions in recent weeks and one of the most over-riding feelings of all has been one of pure stupidity. How could I have got so excited at such an early stage and spilled the beans to our nearest and dearest only to have to retract that news again so soon? I felt I had ruined everyone's Christmas. Disappointed everyone and let them down. What was to be the most special gift we could give to our families on Christmas morning had instead turned out to be a bitter blow to all concerned.

Christmas came and went and a lovely time was had by all. The subject of our pregnancy was skated around with diplomacy (a fact for which I was eternally grateful) and quality time was spent with our families. I immersed myself in the affection and comfort of those I love the most and the world span on.

While I'm coping absolutely fine, side by side with my husband, and moving on with things in my life (writing has been a huge boon and a pastime that has helped me through a lot of sticky moments in the past) I have to admit that I do still stop dead in my tracks on occasion. Something will catch my eye or sneak its sneaky little way into my subconscious and poke, teasingly at those emotions I mentioned early. I know that time is a healer *puts down the cliché and backs away slowly* and I have faith in my own powers of 'bounce back' but I know I'll never forget potential bump number one as we move on and try again.

To those ladies who have been through similar and probably much worse experiences than mine: I doff my imaginary hat to you and hope you have drawn the (very difficult to find but no doubt existent) positives from a horrible situation. Personally I am proud to have called myself a pregnant lady (albeit in the confines of my own four walls!) for just a few days.

This time obviously wasn't meant to be (the human body is a remarkable thing) but I will be a mummy... Oh yes!

Potential Mummy B

Giveth with one hand... taketh away with the other

When you know you want to, why hang around right? After all, we had no way of knowing how long it would take us to fall pregnant. I know a number of couples who have had to have help of one kind or another to conceive. I also know others who still need that help and have yet to see any results. For them the dream of a natural family seems to be fading with every passing cycle; heartbreaking.

So why wait? Especially, as my husband keeps offering, 'at my age'. He is just a little younger than I and takes great pleasure in reminding me of the fact at every available juncture. Oh how I laugh...

Here's the exciting bit.

When we fell pregnant within the first six weeks of trying our emotions were almost too enormous to contain. I refrain from referring to those emotions purely as positive ones because, undoubtedly, mixed in amongst the undeniable excitement and joy was a rather striking crimson shade of terror. While my husband's reaction was mostly restricted to the joyful side of the spectrum, mine swung like an over enthusiastic bungy jumper swinging over a river valley from overwhelming happiness to white hot terror and back again within minutes.

But pregnant I undoutedly was! And off to the doctors we trotted at a rate of knots to make sure we hadn't got it wrong. I don't know what I was expecting the doctor to do for us but I guess I'd expected him to double check our self-diagnosis. No need apparently. The pregnancy tests one buys over the counter are every bit as accurate as those available to NHS staff so he merely congratulated us and calculated our due date. I was officially five weeks pregnant.

Off we skipped, reminiscent of a pair of 11 year olds racing off to the sweet shop, to tell both sets of parents our happy news. We couldn't contain our delight and our beaming faces gave us away as soon as we stepped through the door. But both sets of parents stood by their duties to wait to be told the news before bursting with excitement and squeals.

Our world was a happy place.

All this happened on 21 December 2009.

Over the next few days I tried to come to terms with the fact that I had a life beginning to grow inside of me. At that time is was a mere cluster of cells but it was my cluster of cells and I loved it for the potential baby it was to become. Hubby and I raced out to the nearest book store to buy some guide books on pregnancy and parenthood. We even stopped by Mothercare for a pregnancy journal which I began to fill in as soon as I got home.

I learned straight off that doubts and worries are commonplace, especially in a first pregnancy which, while doing nothing to alleviate those doubts and worries, made me more comfortable in experiencing them: a strange kind of equilibrium.

I started a journal to record my thoughts, feelings, doubts, anxieties. I began to spot a little the day after we did the test but a second test confirmed our initial hopes so all was well with the world.

I woke on Christmas Eve 2009 with joy in my heart, a developing foetus in my womb and a lifetime of plans doing the rounds in my brain. 'This is the last Christmas we'll have as a childless couple', 'next year I'll be buying 'baby's first Christmas' gifts', 'this has to be the best Christmas present ever'... However, as the day progressed the spotting I'd experienced the day before became more insistent and I developed a nagging, incessant ache in the pit of my stomach. Deep in my heart I knew something was wrong but, like the ostrich, I buried my head, hoping it would pass on by, hastened by the spirit of the season, and leave us good folk to enjoy our pregnant Christmas.

By late afternoon however, I could no longer ignore the pain. I called NHS direct and was told by an out of hours doctor to get myself to the hospital as soon as possible. Before we left, my husband and I agreed, without words, to prepare ourselves for the worst. With a heavy heart and the best game-face I could muster we headed out in the snow and ice.

Four and a half hours later we arrived home again, exhausted, drained of energy, emotion and a little blood. But most of all, we arrived back home without our pregnancy.

It was confirmed. We had suffered an early miscarriage.

Apparently almost one in four pregnancies end that way in the early stages; a fact that did nothing to ease the sense of loss I already felt after only three days of knowing I was with child.

My heart broke just a little that day.

Babies to the left of me, pregnancies to the right...

Isn't it funny that when you start focusing on a particular something, you start to notice that that 'something' crops up all over the place? Like for instance when a friend buys a new car that you haven't seen around before. All of a sudden you notice them all over the place. I have experienced something similar with babies.

Not, you understand, that I haven't really noticed babies and children before; I would surely have to walk around with my eyes closed in order to miss them (or trip over them, one of the two!). It's just that babies seem to be the topic of choice wherever I go; toddlers dart out in front of me in the supermarket, as if trying to draw my attention away from baked bean shopping; babies gleam their adorable gurgly little smiles at me as I fill the car with diesel; I've received the news that many of my friends have become pregnant in recent months or have recently had children; those of my friends and acquaintances who don't have children seem to make reference to them with ever increasing frequency; every time I turn the television on there is a baby or baby-related issue being talked about somewhere; and since my fairly recent marriage, babies seem to be the staple diet in terms of conversation whenever I meet family friends in the street. They are, in short, everywhere! Maybe it's just an age thing. Not only has my baby radar become more sensitive as I approach that stage in life, but that of my friends has also gone into overdrive, propelling those with the means (and some without) to beat me down the terrifying yet compulsive road that is children.

Just recently, since I've been trying to get pregnant (obviously with the help of my willing husband), friends have quite literally beaten me to the punch. Not that I begrudge them their excitement - no, not at all. It's just that I want to be able to discuss my exciting journey too but have made a pledge with my husband (as well as with myself) that we'll reach at least the 12 week mark of pregnancy before we start clambering up to the rooftops to make our announcement to the world.

Anyway, from me, an anonymous congratulations to all you pregnant ladies out there. I hope to join you in the ever glowing, ever growing stakes very soon!

Potential Mummy B