Bump fame

My bump is not camera shy. I take a lots of rubbish pictures on my phone to send to family abroad or Darling Husband, or as potentials for the blog that always seem to look a bit too fuzzy for publication. My bump was happy with this level of photographic distribution. Now, it's going BIG TIME.
Tomorrow, bump and I will be in The Times modelling a pair of trousers from the new Gap collection. We needed a range of ages and body shapes for the piece, so I found myself and my token pregnancy shape, pushed forward in front of the camera. I didn't really mind. There are worse ways to spend a Friday, and the pizza at lunch was fantastic. So the bump will be famous and I am already a proud Mummy-to-be.
I am also turning into the biggest groaner this side of the retirement home. These days, when I sit down or bend over, I notice an involuntary groan or moan as my body shifts around to accommodate the new position. I thought this happened right at the end of the 40 weeks, but no, I am already a vocal, groaning pregnant lady who has to turn her internal volume down in public places. It isn't exactly glamourous, I'll grant you that. But then my dear old Grandpa was known for his sit-down groans and it kind of reminds me of him. So I don't mind too much. Maybe he is up there just letting me know that they (Grandma would be with him too) are watching their great-grandchild grow.

HAPPY HALFWAY THERE BABY PULLEN!

Today is a happy day. We've reached the halfway point and had a normal anomaly scan. So for one day only, I've vowed not to worry about our little darling baby Pullen.
Just like it's Mummy, it had two clenched fists (I don't punch, but I am mildly uptight) and like it's Daddy is has the cutest feet in the world. We had fun looking at all its internal bits. Just not those bits. The sex of this baby is staying a secret until D Day in about 20 weeks time. And we can't wait.

It's all in the preparation

These days my waking hours are broken down into food windows. 'Yes, I'd love to meet after work', I'll say, thinking quickly about whether this will mean a sandwich before I leave my desk, or food en route.
On the weekends, it should be easier. And yet, I'm not hungry when I'm at the table, and ravenous when I'm wandering down the street. This, above, is Darling Husband's answer to the problem: one massive, meat-filled, cheesy lasagne. Yum yum. It'll see us through dinner with friends tomorrow night and lunches during the week. Planning in advance, it's fantastic - especially when someone else is doing cooking.
Anyway, enough about food, I'm making myself hungry again, and there isn't any peanut butter in sight. I've been a bit slack with my blog updates of late. This is mainly because I've been super busy at work, and the sun makes sitting at my computer, like, so two months ago (in the rain). Being pregnant in the heat is a challenge, but that doesn't mean I don't want to soak up the warmth on my skin like everyone else. I now consume water like a camel, and have a pathological addiction to ice-cream. The latter couldn't be referred to as a craving, because I eat it to cool myself down rather than satisfy some deep down urge, which has its heart in pickled cucumbers and custard.
So in a sense, I have eating sorted. Sleeping, well that's another topic entirely. I'm not possesed by the burglar syndrome anymore, but I have been trying to wean myself off the flat-backed star position that has become my sleeping fail safe ever since that day on a boat, near Cowes when I nearly kicked darling bro into the sea because my legs were outstretched with such enthusiasm. Anyway, apparenly flat on the back is bad for the baby. BAD NEWS. So now I have to be a good, obedient mother-to-be and lie on my left hand side, facing DH and not exactly getting a peaceful night. That was, until I rather unglamourously shuffed a pillow between my legs, and under the bump, and now I'm like a sleeping baby. Let's hope little Pullen is learning some sleeping tricks too. Ouch, it just kicked. Mmm, I think that means, 'Yes Mum, I know what's what, stop writing about me while I can't defend my side of the story.' Good little baby. I love you very much.

Sweet smells (and The Fridge)

I was spoilt rotten this past weekend, when dearest friends E and C (aka B and D), took me to Floris to redeem my birthday bespoke fragrance gift. As if this wasn't tantalising enough, my pregnancy hormones (those old things again), have rendered my sense of smell supersonic, so my nostrils were flying in overdrive the minute we crossed the Jermyn Street threshold.
It was a thoroughly indulgent and fascinating experience. The Floris nose talked us through base notes, sea algae, Jade Goody's surprisingly complex fragrance and everything else in between. I came out swinging a very snazzy bag from my arm that contained the unique fragrance now known as No.30 - it's a play on my age, and that old Chanel smell that still lingers on many dressing tables (not, I point out, on my own, now that the Floris is there). Anyway, this was without a doubt the pinnacle of my new uber nose.
At the other end of my odour meter is our fridge. Ever since I've had a bun in the oven, I've had major problems with this helpful piece of electrical equipment. Not only does the door squeak when you open in (absolutely nothing to do with being pregnant, but something that frustrates me on at least a thrice daily basis), but the smells that fester inside its cool atmosphere, attack my delicate shnoze like nothing else.
I'm making it sound like I have mouldy old food in my refrigerator. And yet we do our weekly Ocado shop and are very good at throwing away anything out of date. So I think it must just be the concentration of food pongs in one vessel that gets my goat everytime. This is what darling husband says when I pinch my nose and wretch in the background as he tries to reach for the butter, 'Oh for goodness sake, not that again...' Followed swiftly by, 'Ok, you get in there with your mega nostrils and find the offending bit and I'll sort out the rest.' And he does. And my nose lives to fight another day.

Water babies....

I have started thinking about taking my bump on holiday. The lucky thing is getting two summer jaunts and I'm going to need to parade my semi-nude body in front of other people. That'll be interesting. Luckily, it'll only be close friends and randoms in Provence and then Mallorca, so I won't need to completely obscure my face - or stomach.
This was my train of thought, 'Ah, holiday soon, that'll be fun, chilling, relaxing, good food (except my favourite cheese and hams), and, ouch, my legs are a bit wobbly up top these days' So I started Googling 'pre-natal yoga'. There is one local class but it's at a really awkward time. Then I typed in 'pre-natal pilates'. Again, no joy there. Now I'm thinking water aeorobics, as it's low impact and high resistance - two concepts that sound very good in my book. So in theory, that is the body sorted. Now I just need to get off my expanding derierre and go to a class and I can tick it off my to do list.
Then I thought about the heat. I did a quick poll of Mummy friends, as I was wondering about the bump getting too hot in the sun. I already knew I wouldn't be roasting myself like Greece 2002, but apparently a bit of sun is good for the baby. The vitamin D will help it grow strong; plus, the tan will do wonderful things for my bumpy legs. I reckon distortion will be a fabulous trick if I don't make it to the pool for leg crunches and what not.
So the bump is ready for some fun! If I was writing one of my fashion articles, I might even go as far to say that a bump is the new It Bag in my world - and that of my friends. It is like a new, fun accessory that for once, cost nothing to procure. Although having spent five minutes on the John Lewis website I am beginning to realise that the ££££'s are just around the corner. Man, those buggies cost about the same price as I got for the old red Polo, RIP V742 EDX. This is going to be one lucky, comfortable, turbo-powered baby.

A bumpathon...

Today we celebrated Tarny Pop's 30th birthday with a wonderful summer garden party that quickly descend, via several slices of quiche and then chocolate cake, into some bumpy silliness. Here you will see five wonderful bumps. The boys (TP, left, and JM) are very nearly ready to pop and we wish them well for their respective deliveries.
Us three, well we are a trio of pregnancy. It is a hugely exciting sensation to know that you are in this with two of your best friends. Here we are, in descending bump order 27 weeks (TH) 19 weeks (AP) and 14 weeks (LH). We are on different journeys that are all heading towards the same exciting end. In the future, I know our babies will be friends. They will have to be. In a strange way, sharing this with friends helps to make the reality, more, er real.
You spend a while thinking about getting pregnant and knowing that'll mean a baby in the end. And then you get that positive pregnancy test, and it's still so abstract. You don't look different (except for, in my case, a pair of enormous....). Anyway, you spend the first 12 weeks trying to keep this thing alive and then you get to see it on a scan and you think, wow, that's a baby. Still though, it isn't exactly real. But then talking to friends, imagining how we will be mothers, alone and together, that makes its seem like a genuine possibility!
Clearly, judging by the photos, this is going to happen and it's going to be fabulous and fun and scary.
And we're friends doing it together. And that makes me feel better - I hope they feel the same way...
The boys.... mmm, I think they're beyond help.

Things that go bump in the night

Is it sad that today I aspire to be like Garfield? He always seems to sleep so well, whether or not he's in the dirty lasagne dish. I, on the other hand, am not sleeping well. I am not good when I'm tired, so you may notice that the tone of this post could, at a push, be described as grumpy, or terse, or just take-me-back-to-bed exhausted. You see, I fall asleep ok. No problems there. But then I wake in the middle of the night, and get strange thoughts in my mind. Twice this week I've been totally convinced that we've been entertaining a gaggle of burglers downstairs, although Darling Husband, after a quick scoot around the property, assures me it's all in my mind.
Poor husband. He tries so hard, and I wake him up so often. So what are the reasons for these stupid thoughts, strange dreams and general noctural unrest? Well, as with everything else in pregnancy, when the medical experts are at a loss for an explanation, they just cite hormones. One small word, a million different side effects.
So the hormones are officially making me go mad. Not during the day, I'm fine then, so please don't cancel plans with us, I won't start accusing you of stealing my hydrangeas. The craziness happens at night. I'm like a big, fat, pregnant werewolf. But obviously with less hair.
So that is the moan over. And here is the happy, warm-your-heart bit. Yesterday I had another midwife appointment. I actually met with the same one who conducted my first meeting, and I'm now crossing my fingers (in vain, clearly) that she'll be there for the big event too. She's so nice, and cuddly and laughs at my jokes. We did a little heartbeat listening. It was going nice fast, and the baby was moving around lots and sounding like it was having a very nice time in there.
Then, I got home and accidentally punched myself in the stomach. Don't ask. It involved a baked potato and some clumsiness. Anyway, I FREAKED OUT. But then the little Pullen Bear moved about as normal as I tried to concentrate on my work (and watch the women's semi-finals at Wimbeldon). So I'm feeling calmer now.
My dearest Mother also reassured me, saying that she fell on her bump, very publicly, and there doesn't seem to be too much wrong with the Bro Bro.
I also did a quick vox pop with friends and everyone, it seems, has had some bump bumps.
So I'm going to contain that worry again. It's hard, but I'm really trying to be level-headed these days. Although the same can't be said at night.