Ohh the nursery, something that is not necessary (plenty of people have babies without their own bedrooms) and won’t be needed right away, but is something I can not wait to get my hands on. There is something that feels more real about the squatter when there is a space for she/he.
We’ve got a way to go, but in one week Dobble took the future nursery from this
This guy is on fire. I’m even more useless than normal. I’m able to clean (reluctantly), cook and join him on trips to the skip. But I am making a baby- meaning I’m being healthy and sober, and still losing my waistline day by day.
I’m not the sort of person who does one mood board and sticks to the script. I make 10 moodboard and end up using a little bit from each of them so it ends up either like a well organised jazz trill or a disastrous screech.
So here is my first attempt
For those of you who’ve followed this blog for awhile there will be one thing that will strike you as odd in this mood board. That’s right, white. I want a light and white nursery. Pregnancy is weird. You’ll know I haven’t completely changed as I also want to dress my baby up in ridiculous lion coats and cardboard dinosaur costumes.
We hit the 20 week mark now, meaning the squatter is the size of a mango. I’m pretty sure by the time it’s a watermelon Abe will have a finished room for she/he.
As you can see, I’ve graduated from keg belly to full on muffin top. All of a sudden this squatter is a growin’.
So now that my belly is getting attention by the outside world, let’s talk about being taken seriously as a pregnant woman, and not just as a baby maker waiting to be milked.
I tried to keep this pregnancy a secret for as long as possible. I had the fear and worry that I hear will now be with me the rest of my days, mostly that something will happen to the squatter’s health or that I’d be a shitty mom and totally ruin its life forever.
But I also worried that after announcing the pregnancy I would no longer be taken seriously at work, and would be seen as someone who is in the way for 6 months. Here in the UK only 18% of women who have a child under 3, work full-time. Right now I have every intention of getting back to work, I’m lucky and find real meaning in what I do. And who the hell are these people who can afford not to go back? That is impressive- but not the world I live in.
Practical reading for a prego
So far I’ve actually not had a problem at all. I think what helps is that I’m lucky to have positive female managers around me and work for the public sector. These things make a big difference, but I’ve also tried my hardest to remind people “I’ll be back.” A couple of other tricks I’ve tried is to keep it a secret when I’ve just thrown up my cookies and have banned the term ‘baby brain.’ God help the person who says this when I forget my password for the 10th time, the snarl is worst than when Will eats the last pickle.
I know that lots of women are ready to hand in their notice when the pee stick is positive and I am happy for them, but that’s not me. So for now I am trying for the outside world to take pity on the muffin top, but still take me seriously. I think it is a fine balance and one more women should talk about. So send advice, tips or pickles my way.
Will is following me around the house trying to rub my belly and that can only mean one of two things
1) My boobs have dropped to my belly button
2) I’m pregnant
Luckily for me/Will it’s the second option, although I hear the former ocan occur following – but definitely not before- pregnancy.
That’s right we’ve allowed a squatter in to these quarters and I’m 16 weeks prego.
I’m at that awkward stage where I’m trying desperately to push my belly out so I look less like a sorority girl who has been living on keg stands and burritos and more like a respectable pregnant lady who deserves a seat on the train. I can’t say it’s always clear, and Dobble still calls me ‘keg belly.’
Will caught me peanut-butter handed, you can take the girl out of America… ‘
And yes, it was planned. I love that we thought that point would be obvious, you know with the whole being married for 3 years, having a home (ok Abe counts as a home) and even our own washing machine, but everyone from family to friends has asked ‘Was it planned.’ Yes 2014 has been crazy, but not that crazy. We wanted this little squatter and despite a life time of babysitting responsibilities from here on out, we can not wait to meet it.
So be prepared for this blog to evolve in to something less house-y and more mummy. I’ve got big things on my mind now like if we should use non-disposable nappies, how hippy should I go in my birth plan and would it really hurt the child if we give it the middle name Magoo
Will, the squatter and me