The bump cometh...

Today was my first day back at work after my week-long holiday of sleeping, lying in bed watching DVDs and shopping for maternity clothes that don't look like ancient Laura Ashley relics or involve any sort of dungarees. Why is it that people think pregnant women swan about in dungarees? In films it's like the only costume they have for ladies up the duff. I'd be able to hear the derisive laughter from here if I turned up at work wearing such giant-sized toddler apparel.

Anyhoo, I actually wore a maternity top to work today for the first time. I'm not quite into the comedy maternity jeans yet, but the tops are pretty good. And it seems all my begging, pleading, screaming and general tantrum-esque impatientness with not having a visible bump has all paid off - people who didn't know I was knocked up commented on my bumpiness today! Hooray! It just seems to have instantly appeared as soon as I wore something with a maternity label.

Why is it I didn't look pregnant until I wore a maternity top? Are they magic tops? I think they might be.

Grow, bump, grow!

I'm feeling very impatient. I'm in an awful inbetween stage of my pregnancy where I still don't really look like I'm with child, so passing folk just think I've stuffed myself with a few too many roast dinners and piled on several pounds round the middle. Urgh. However, there might be no real bump to speak of yet - but my clothes are getting a little nippy. And it's never a good thing when you can't fasten your jeans up anymore and the old elastic band and safety pin trick to get a wee bit more longevity out of them no longer works. Yup, time to go shopping for maternity clothes.

And that's what I did today. I was actually quite surprised with the range of stuff I've managed to get - it's all from stores I normally buy from, and very similar to what I'd wear anyway with a slightly different cut to make room for expanding stomachs. Apart from the best invention ever - maternity jeans! They look like regular jeans, but instead of having any buttons or zips at the top, they have an enormous stretchy jersey material piece that almost comes up to my armpits. But they're sooooooo comfy - I may actually wear them all the time, not just when I'm pregnant. (Incidentally, I had a male pal at uni who had a similar pair of pants he kept specially for nights when he ate his supper in those all-you-can-eat chinese buffets. Buffet pants, he called them.)

So I'm all set and can actually wear attire that fits to work next week. But I still want to know where this bump is. It's been four months now, surely it must be on its way? I WANT A BUMP! Please?

Like a busy bee...

This week is gonna be a busy ole week, methinks. I have a week off from work (woohoo!), and while I intend to use the time wisely and sleep as much as humanly possible - I also have a midwife checkup, my sister is up visiting from the Big Smoke, and we have relatives over from Cyprus. Speaking of whom, it was their Golden Wedding party last night. Fifty years is quite a long time to be married. I'm approaching three.

Now, it was nice to see people I haven't clapped eyes on in ages, and chat to folk about my impending motherhood - but really, was is necessary for everyone and their dog to come and give me their sage advice on childbirth and babies? They could have let me sip my lemonade in peace, but no. I nodded through countless tales of sleepless nights (some evil babies who apparently didn't start sleeping through the night until they were 5), horror stories of labour and birth, listened to the debates of whether I'm having a boy or a girl depending on the height, circumference and pointiness (pointiness?! I hope to god it isn't pointy) of my bump (there's not much bump to speak of yet, so that one was a bit difficult), and smiled sweetly as newfangled methods of child rearing were derided.

I know they all mean well, but if I hear "Ooh, sleep now while you have the chance!" one more time, I might actually burst a blood vessel through screaming.

I'm picking up good vibrations...

The Other Half, my unborn child and I went to see Brian Wilson last night. Tremendous gig! I was worried he'd destroy all my childhood memories of The Beach Boys over the course of an evening, but no - the doddery old fella still has a good pair of lungs on him (and a top notch accompanying band!). And it was the baby's first live music experience. I think it enjoyed it. The Other Half also spent the journey home amusing me with renditions of Beach Boys songs sung in Vic Reeves' club singer style. There is no end to the man's talents.

Yesterday was also my folks' 29th wedding anniversary. (Their 'furniture' anniversary, according to t'interweb.) And my mother dearest informed me that next year for the 30th Anniversary- which I'm pretty sure is 'pearl'- she'd like a clock. A clock?! Alright mother, I'll get you a clock. I'm guessing she wasn't happy with sad bunch of tulips I got her yesterday that didn't stand up. Damn tulips.

At last, my head is out of the loo...

Inform the national media, ring the church bells, write it in huge letters in the sky and make me a nice sandwich, please - my head has finally emerged from its lengthy stay down the toilet pan and I'm back on food for first time in weeks - hale-bloody-luliah! I'm celebrating with a homemade curry and The Other Half. Come on!

Mmmm, curry.

In six months time...

I got a flavour of life with a newborn, tonight. A work pal and I went to visit another gal from work who just had a baby girl. We were instructed not to dare enter their house without food, so we stopped off at the supermarket for lots of chocolate pudding. Ah, the baby is gorgeous. And teeny! If I wasn't already up the duff I'd be going home and complaining to The Other Half that I think it's high time I should be.

They're coping really well. Really nailed the whole nappy-changing malarkey, and they even made our dinner! I know that my house will be the scene of utter devastation by comparison in six months, and that will really irk my neat-freak hubby. Tomorrow I'm having tea with some more work pals, then off to see my sister who's up from the big smoke for her birthday. A better week than the last, at least. Think I'm starting to feel a bit better on the whole sickness front, too. Fingers crossed.

And just in case you were wondering, The Hoff story is correct. His ex-wife Catherine married an actor named Michael Knight in 1992. Wow. Some urban myths really are true. According to Google.

Good mood, bad mood...

I was in a good mood today until I went out for tea...I even managed to eat at lunchtime and everything. I'll not go into details but tonight's tea out was quite an odd affair. It felt really strained, and I was bluntly snapped out and I'm not sure why! Then just to round everything off nicely, after tea the group smirkingly decided to go off for cocktails at which point I was really fed up and feeling sorry for myself so went home. Bah.

On a different note, another pal texted me when I got home with a picture of a new baby we're going to visit this week. She's so cute! Oh my god, that'll be me in six months. Argh!

And on a completely different note again, I've just realised that Tiger Woods looks like a black David Gest. Strange. And I'm about to Google an urban myth I heard today - that apparently David Hasselhoff's ex-wife married somebody called Michael Knight. That can't be true, surely?! I'll let you know.