Rubbing and stroking

Just to clarify, that isn't me. I don't think I'm quite ready - not sure if I'll ever be, to be honest - to get my naked belly out in cyberspace. So I found a cute tummy picture to illustrate my thought of the day. Which is: why do pregnant women instinctively rub their bellies?
I have started doing this, and it bemuses me. My hands just gravitate there and then move in circular movements on both sides. It is such a pregnancy cliche and yet I find myself totally smitten by its reassuring charms. Put bluntly, The Rub feels nice. Maybe it's a kind of physical exploration of a pregnant woman's changing shape? A kind of tactile staring in the mirror. I do find that I can't walk past a shop these days without watching my spherical silhouette pass by in reflection. Even though this pregnancy was planned, and very much wanted, it still amazes me that I am A Pregnant Woman. I don't think I'll ever get over it. Nor, I trust, will my rubbing hands.
The other subject that this feeds into is whether to allow other people a feel too. I don't actually mind the odd random hand on my tummy. Let's be honest, now that my bump has gone hard, this is probably the firmest my tummy will ever feel. So I may as well give other people the pleasure of its round, firm shape too. So far, it's only been a couple of work colleagues and family members, which I can totally handle. The funniest is Dearest Bro Bro. He told me when the news broke about him becoming an uncle that he'd never touched a pregnant belly before. Well he has now. It's cute. He likes it. Let's hope he is equally enthusiastic about baby-sitting.

This is how to say no to Hula Hoops

I get very hungry at the moment. This is my desk today. And no I don't eat the nail varnishes.

Now what was I saying....?

I had a really good post that I'd been thinking about for a few days. I'll write it next week, I said to myself.
Big Mistake. My brain, it's mush. Really, this has only happened in the last week. I think my brain size is now inversely proportional to my belly. Slightly worrying. Especially as my job relies rather heavily on that grey matter. What do mathematicians do?
So the good idea, it's dust. Hopefully good idea will come back one day soon while it is still relevant to my pregnancy development....
Something I do know is that I'm 18 weeks today. Well done baby Pullen. You are growing nicely. These are new things that have happened over the last week:
1. My skin is flaking off. It's attractive. Really it is.
2. Our little baby wriggles around and I feel it properly now. On Saturday, post Stevie, it did a massive turn and I think I felt an elbow or heel under my hand. My hand, if you're wondering, just happened to be resting on my tummy.
3. I am eating a lot more. I've even bought healthy snacks like carrots sticks and hummus.
4. The bump, it's bigger.
What with the lack of brain power and the empire maxi dresses, I think I'm getting into this pregnancy thing. Of course, I'm still a bit of a bundle of worry. This is me we're talking about. The girl who worries about Darling Husband if he takes longer than 10 minutes to go and get bread on a Saturday morning.
But seeing as the worry is now a life sentence, I am trying to box it up (along with all my lovely shoes) and put it somewhere safe.
Here's to the next 18 weeks. By which time I think I'll be somewhere close to full term and presumably the boxed up shoes (they have new homes in little see-thru plastic boxes with draws) won't be cluttering up the baby's room.
Now I'm off to bed. Because I forgot to mention that this heat, blimey, it's totally knackering. But I'm English, and I'm not complaining. I'm just mentioning it, in a slightly dehydrated way.

Signed, sealed, not quite delivered (me, not him)

I have to admit, I'm not a fantastic concert fan. The people, the noise, the disappointment if the band don't perform your favourite songs. I'm a difficult live music fan to please. But Stevie Wonder. Well, he was something else entirely. Aside from playing music that featured at our wedding and throughout our relationship, his smile, his joy and his supreme talent were just so uplifting.
The baby liked it too. I was thinking while the speakers pumped in front of my eyes, that perhaps, I should be wearing a pair of headphones on my belly. If nothing else, it was a mental image that made Darling Husband and I laugh. Anyway, we're hoping that Mr Wonder and the opera, plus the constant iPod at home are keeping the little Pullen entertained. Darling Husband is desperate for an offspring with musical talent. I'm not sure two hours listening to Stevie is enough, but it certainly gave us a warm glow.
The rest of the weekend passed via several BBQs lots of sun and some irritating fashion moments. I'm going to concede defeat (already) and go and buy some new bits. Nothing maternity though. Just some long tube dresses and jersey harem pants as suggested by Kate and her gorgeous 8 month bump.
Oh, and I did the impossible and left the house with a proper cleavage today. Well, if I've got it... I'm going to flaunt it....

Cultural bumps

I'm all about exposing my bump (not literally) to new cultural experiences. Baby can already hear so that that trip to see Carmen at Holland Park Opera, could mean the start of a muscial career for Master or Miss Pullen. Last night, I was invited to eat on top of the new Westfield shopping centre at Stratford. This is the impressive pop up restaurant. There was a lot of alcohol flowing, not in my direction unfortunately, and a very cool crowd. I played fashion bingo with myself, and now I think bump might become an extremely trendy little person indeed. It moved a lot when a fabulous Richard Nicoll dress walked past. Does this mean it's a girl?

Changing times, same Lover dress

This is a post of reminiscence. As you can tell, the first photo is me now. The second one is me at Brother Benjamin's 30th birthday. Two years ago exactly, give or take one day. Oh how the rollercoaster of life winds and wiggles in different ways. Then I was eating Somalian food with my fingers. Now I'm just eating whatever I can get my hands on.
Anyway, back to the dress. What with me being a bit stingy with myself when it comes to new maternity clothes (I've bought two pairs of jeans from Topshop and that's it), plus, the fact that maternity clothes are the frumpiest excuses for style I've ever had the misfortune of trying on. And not to mention that it is rather exciting to challenge myself and make old clothes work avec Le Bump, I find myself in a number of summer dresses would be shocked about the changes in my life. If I'd told any one of them at the time of purchase, or over one of the many drunken, happy nights that we'd shared together, that one day in the future, around June 2010, it would be happily stretching itself over my swollen belly, then I think it would have fallen off its chair - or at least its padded coat hanger.
One such dress is the classic red Pippi Longstocking number that I picked up in 2003 while enjoying myself (read: wasting time in the sun) in Sydeny. Cousin Holly will remember the dress, seeing as I copied her and all. Holly's was brown I think, I wonder if she still has it?
Anyway, that dress has seen me through a good few years, and now it finds itself becoming a very pleasing maternity option. I like how it isn't empire line or printed with lavender sprigs, like the rest of the maternity garb on offer. It hugs my bump with reassurance. Plus, I feel like old Alice. Remember her? The one who used to drink glass upon glass of red wine and liked to binge on blue cheese and parma ham?
I think it is important that Old Me stays visable during these changing times. Pregnancy is wonderful. And I'm hoping that motherhood will be even better. But I don't want to lose my sense of self in a sea of elasticated jeans and nappies. If that means holding onto a few old fashion bits from the days before Toby (what a terrible thought) or before even The Times (mmm, less heartbreaking) then I will keep pulling out vintage goodies from my summer wardrobe stock. Because clothes are a great way of linking your life together.
That sounds really shallow and pathetic doesn't it. Oh well, I like the dress and it's making my mind go a bit giddy.

Pre-natal contortions

Look at me!!!
Ok, ok, it isn't me. But I want to get back into my Ten Pilates routine and I heard a rumour, through my lovely sister-in-law, that Ten Pilates was now offering pre-natal classes. Wow, I thought, as I watched the American guy and the energetic Frenchman get to 59-59 in the fifth set at Wimbledon. And while darling husband watched Germany and Ghana and Australia and Slovenia battle it out for World Cup sudden death glory. Surrounded by all this sport, and bouyed by the thought of getting my bump back on the reformer, I quickly got online to book my classes.
Then, deflation. Ten Pilates only offers pre-natal classes at the Chiswick studio. Well, Chiswick isn't so far, I thought. But it is at 11am on a Tuesday morning - when I'm based in Wapping.
Ten, what are you thinking?! Pregnant women do work too. Amazing that, but true.
So, instead. I'm going to play tennis. Yes, strange for a woman who is entering her 18th week of pregnancy. But the parents bought us lessons for Christmas and I'm now in my 'blooming' second trimester, so I figure, a bit of serving practice and a few forehands won't hurt anyone. At least I hope they won't. The coach says it's fine too and a much more pregnant woman has been spotted winning a few sets at the tennis club already this month.
So I'm feeling good. I'm going to get this body fit again. Because the birth is a marathon. And I need to start training.

Snot

One of the worst things about being pregnant in the summer, is that if you are a hayfever sufferer, there is very little you can do. In honour of today being the most potent pollen day of the year (I read this this morning, and nearly cried), I thought I'd offer a tiny bit of help to similar sneezing Mum's to be.
HayMax is ok. I think it might reduce my sneezing from an impressive daily 300 achoows, to a measly 285. But any improvement is welcome, not just by myself, but by my understanding colleagues (and presumably, the people I sit next to on the tube).
You rather unglamourously rub it inside your nostrils to prevent pesky pollen spores from penetrating. Obviously, it allows for breathing and therefore a degree of the irritating stuff flies northwards into your nasal cavity.
But it's something. And really, there is very little else a pregnant, sneezing, noisy woman can rely on. Buy it here, and you get a free one, with every two bought.

The restoration project

This is my first nursery purchase! I know, I know, it looks skanky now. But once I have had it re-upholstered (in a cute, unisex print), have ensured the insides are fire retardent, and bought a foot stool, then I'm sure you'll agree it'll set off my baby room a treat. You see, and this is just a personal thing here, I am really conscious that I don't want to become a John Lewis Flat Pack Mum.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love John Lewis like the next person. I'll be going there for the cot and other essentials, I'm sure. But having only just graduated from its Wedding List, I feel that if I go John Lewis baby crazy, I might just become Never Knowingly Undersold myself.
So my plan was to avoid its extremely comfortable rocking chair (tough, but I've done it) and other obvious JL bits, and try to source some unique items for the bubba. Not that it will notice, of course, but hey, I have to spend a lot of time in that room too!
So I bought the chair. Sorry about the fuzzy image, it's from eBay and it cost £106. That's a bargain in my book. I'm sure once all the restoration work gets done, the price will rocket by several hundred big ones, but it feels so good to sit in: those Victorians knew a thing or two about nursing in style. The arms are very supportive too, and once I get my feet up, I'm not sure I'll ever move from said chair again.
I have been thinking a lot about how to make the nursery look homely and sweet, whilst bypassing soft pink and light blue. Just so you know, I won't be plumping for yellow ducks either. Oh, there is so much to waste brain power over... (and I'm loving it, hoorah!)

Oil and the bump (and my lovely wall)

So, I have been very diligent with my Bio Oil application. Apparently Bio Oil, above (available, on sale, at Chemist Online from £4.99) is the only thing to keep those pesky stretch marks at bay.
It is quite nice applying a daily oil. It leaves my skin feeling supple and happy and reassuringly elastic. Of course, there are those people who say that the appearance of stretch marks is all in the genes and that your get what you're given, if you know what I mean, even if you are a diligent oil applier like myself. I'm happy to report, and I'm sure she won't be too embarressed for you to know, that my dearest darling Mummy is stretch mark free, so I'm hopeful.
Anyway, I digress. So I'm committed to Bio Oil, but what with moonlighting as a beauty writer on some days, I receive many declarations of product brilliance via my Times inbox.
One such email used that persuasive tool called The Los Angeles Celebrity Factor. If they like it over there, then it must be good, it said - and I thought. So the product, complete with unfortunate name, SilDerm, was ordered and arrived at my desk.
Once I got it home, and on the bump, I was pleased with the natural ingredients and potent, relaxing lavender scent. Those celebs, they're so ahead of the game.
That was until this morning, when I ruined the new paint job in our indulgently decorated Farrow and Ball French Grey loft room. It turns out that SilDerm's nifty spray nozzle isn't so nifty after all. It sprays oil in an upwards direction, even when you are very careful and cup your hands and point it downwards for safety's sake. So now, thanks to the fear of stretch marks, we have an oil splattered room. And it looks like we may need to fall back on Darling Husband's DIY brilliance and do a little paint-over jobby. I bet those celebrities have special wipe down uber-paint that laughs at a few specks of oil.
Anyway, there is a moral to this story. And I think it involves our fully tiled bathroom....

Yes I know, I know....

...the Bump is big. Everyone says the same thing. It goes something like this: 'Hey, how are you? Congratulations. Wow it's massive.'
It's kind of embarrassing. But then, I figure, I'm nearly 17 weeks. And hey, everyone's different. Plus, I like my bump. It's nice and round and looks good in my new Gap sailor top. The fashion option is keeping me going, at the moment. I'm the perfect size to experiment with bump-friendly clothes and not too big, really, for it to hamper any of my favourite clothes. So here I am. Round, firm and happy.
Talking of clothes, what with my job as a fashion journalist, I'm now The Times' resident Pregnancy Correspondent. As such, I have already been called upon (yesterday) to give my bumpy opinion of Samantha Cameron's Meeting Carla Bruni Outfit. If you want to know my thoughts, here's the link. I'm afraid you're going to have to register to read it, what with the News International pay wall and everything. But content is still free. So it's just a matter of putting in a few vital stats and off you go. http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/life/fashion/article2563339.ece
You're going to have bear with me on the blog. I'm quite new to this online lark. But I'm going to learn. And there are going to be great tips, beauty products (I have inside info, that I am willing to share) and hopefully some laughs along the way too. Some posts will be about me wanting to document important moments along my pregnancy road; others will be to share information and stories with other Mum's to be. The rest are for foreign relatives who want to keep up with my progress. I've already written a list of subjects on which I fancy musing. Yes, I'm a keen machine. But all in good time.

First steps

This is an experiment and an online diary. I have always fancied writing a blog, but hadn't managed to settle on a subject across which I wanted to endlessly talk, or cared to read back over. Well, nothing gives you drive like an expanding pregnancy belly. And the realisation that, and without wanting to sound too American here, this is a very special journey. In short, it deserves documentation. There will be photographs of the bump. But it is early in the morning, and I have yet to rouse the darling man who got me into this situation. My aim, in the main, is still unclear, although I will certainly chart my changing body shape and most probably chatter too much about internal gas. As my mother would say, it's all in the joy of motherhood. So here I am lapping it up, and waiting patiently for my husband to take the first photograph. Oh, and I am 16 weeks and 5 days gone.