Monday, 2 June 2008

Private thought

i am not blooming.

i am ballooning.

i am going to sue all those companies using skinny models with fake bumps advertising maternity clothes.

they cause a permanent scar in my brain, induce agoraphobia and low self-esteem. it's all a bag of lies.

i am round, rounder and rounderer. the baby fat isn't on the baby. it's on my face.

my "assets" are two separate planets and i don't even belong to that universe. it's a life of its own.

i am a walking food-hoover, i froooooooooom, vrooom down my throat anything that doesn't walk.

what has the world come down to??????

Wednesday, 28 May 2008


i don't know why... but everytime i start to write here i always have a real, serious proper reason... but i end up adding as much trivia into it as if to quench the level of seriousness. please forgive me.

the time has come for our 12th week scan. the monumental (one of zillions to come) moments during your parenthood. the 3 "all clear" scan that is supposed to unleash your imagination and your tongue. all clear - and you imagine pushing the pram up portobello road and head for a drink at electric, baby is all pinky peach or olive brown, baby skin just shines at you as you inhale again that baby smell... after the 12th week you're allowed to venture with your thoughts further than: the twelve week scan.

and the 12 week scan can unleash your tongue. in a nice way. your mobile phone bill hits the sky as you call everybody up and say "hey babes, this is going to be a quick one. i am pregnant!" - and then you talk for hours...One of my "hey, i'm preggggo" calls lasted 2 hours as i sat on the pavement by the topshop on oxford street. i felt so young and rebellious sitting next to those 15 year old gorgeous waifs, them discussing skinny jeans and clearasil, me: birth methods. "just do it the classic way, lie down and push so that he can't see your... you know... your bum thingie..." - kate continued to praise the benefits of the old school way.

as i sat by the topshop having kissed my darling husband goodbye as he sped off to work to make those bucks to pay for my "lady who lunches" maternity bonanza, I clenched my 12 week baby scan.

it was a stressful morning. a stressful week. i kept having dialogues with myself. forget monologues. i was almost applying 2 x different voices to counter attack positive against negative. everything will be ok. everything will be ok. you have a beautiful little 6cm baby inside you. healthy. bouncy. happy. no thick neck. no sign of the down syndrome - said the positive voice and continued to reassure me.

our scan was the first one of the day. i wanted to bribe the sonographer, make her smile, pay her a compliment, promise her the latest laboutin shoes in return for positive news, but she didn't seem to be that type.

the room was dark as was her severe haircut. she massaged by belly with the gel, then with the scanny joy stick (whatever you call it) , she frowned, paused her lips in "p", took a deep breath. meanwhile i kept watching the monitor and seeing a litlte bouncy human shape, jumping from one wall to another. i kept sending him " c'mon, you're adorable, healthy, you're just perfect" messages and i squeezed mark's hand tight.

few more circling my stomach with the joy stick, few most amazing cinematographic moments in my life and the verdict of "all looks perfect" ceased my silent but very deep hope, worry, concern, certainty and uncertainty...

funny thing is, i don't know why, but i decided to wear my special boudoir knickers, pretty fluffy pink cabaret number. i wanted to look good, feel good, feel positive, feel happy in PINK!

in case your imagination takes you on a trip round the world - no - i don't have a leather dungeon at home, i don't wear thongs and am actually quite a dull knicker wearer but for my 12 week scan there was no chance for marks & spencers. oh no, baby, when we're talking YOU, we're talking champagne, pink knickers, happiness!

Wednesday, 14 May 2008


how nice. i had one of those blood test, the first big blood test of the pregnancy where they test if you're had chickenbox, rubella and a few other rather significant conditions.

i am pleased to say that i have no HIV or syphilis. Not that I have been particularly active during a sexual revolution (erhhh... which one you may wonder... me too). But you know, that little morbid voice inside your head, the same one that tells you the engine's sounding funny just as you're boarding your plane on a dream honeymoon... the same voice that tells you you'll just ain't going to get that job or that if statistically 1 in 34597340598 people die of no apparent reason so you're going to be that special 34597340598-th.... the same voice was teasing with me "blimey, what if i have something nasty", pages of the catalogue of men shuffles past my eyes, i'm thinking "c'mon, it's ridiculous, i've been so responsible... oh god, have I?"....

it's all media's fault! stupid cosmopolitan which i read 10 years ago and there was an article that this lonely woman found a love of her life, they breathed the same air, they dreamed the same dreams. she was bathing in happiness, he was bathing in with her and their naked bodies danced to the symphony of the Opus called the happy ever after. as the crescendo reached its peak and the music subsided, she became pregnant. rose petals circled around her world to the sound of a light-fingered waltz and she was a woman Fulfilled.

the first scan revealed a healthy bouncy heart thumping away on the screen. he squeezed her hand, she shed a tear. their sense of being special, the chosen ones was almost arrogant.

the blood test followed and she recalled her time off school with chickenpox and sighed in relieved.

when she was flicking through a baby names book, her doctor called. Asked her to come in to his office. pleasantries were hard to notice as she gently sat on his chair. "Ann, I'm afraid to tell you, you've got AIDS"...

a one night stand 10 years earlier tippled the scale of her desination and a great trashy article was born.

equal doses of superficial "streetwiseness" and gloominess were the trademark of my 20ties. As i rocked my chair to the sound of pink floyd and devoured cosmopolitan's lessons of life, i knew i'd never forget that article about Ann, David and Tariq, one night stand man (quite non-politically correct choice of name if i may add)...

anyway, i have NOT got HIV.

i have not been a naughty girl, i have not played with fire, i am so so perfect. the statistics worked the magic... oh the contrary me.

hmmmm... this pregnancy business is quite a serious thing, init...?


Tuesday, 22 April 2008


my job...

i am a journalist working for a big tv network spread across a dozen floors. if you were to cut our building in half, it would resemble ants' nest from a distance although i reckon we move about even faster. from 9am till 7pm there seem to be a little thought around, just movement, rushing, clicking, typing, talking, lots of talking, especially bullshit, romancing, gossiping, meeting, even more senseless meetings...

actually i am not a journalist. i am now head of business operation. i was trained as a journalist but my journey from a fresh faced idealist somehow got diverted because of my love for fashion and money became more sexy than those risky trips across dusty roads to afganistan. where - i must add - i was tempted to go once as our head of international news, oscar troy (sorry I had to change his name in case he reads baby blogs), was looking for a reporter assistant. i was berely 2 months into the job making teas and coffee for every day of my uni days whilst i heard that oscar was in need. i was very single and oscar was very hot. i applied. i was turned down with a grin on his face but then i got a call. come to an afgan restaurant in merylebone at 8pm - said the crackly voicemail. for a split second i thought i heard he wanted to meet me in afganistan with his bone. so, 4 hours after my job interview oscar and i were on a trip of discovering and covering many hills, curves, caves...ok i better stop here.

anyway, this was 10 years ago. he is now a sad aging man so botoxed that you can see his hypothalamus. and i have a hunky mr forever and i am going to have his baby! ha! i will be, at last!!!! a yummy mummy, a lady who lunches, a lady who gets her manicure and pedicure done once a week, a lady who will be first to hit the sales at selfridges, who will go to the food hall at harrods for tea! who will go to the gym and do pilates and yoga! who will pick up dry cleaning and look so so YUMMY that people will take me for an eastern european nanny! i am going to have a 1 year of maternity freedom! freedom from the london tube, freedom from the weekly status meetings of the operations department, freedom from gisela and anna who hover around me non-stop and fight for who's going to get a promotion faster, freedom from 304958309485 emails a day. i will soon enter the bliss of a yummy mummy. Claudia, Jennifer, Angelina, Alba - just wait! Keep that cappuccino hot for me. Oh, better still, order me a glass of white (very chilled) and i'll see you at the soho house, you just wait girls! i am on my way.

but before this happens, i need to "tell my employer" that i am pregnant. but how. god. i am really dreading it. i feel like i've ben naughty and shouldn't have been and i shouldn't have had sex on the big O day, i should have kept my legs down and not swollow all that folic acid and got myself pregnant. i genuinely dread telling my boss: "good morning, i am pregnant". i had this stupid fantasy today at a conference call that i would tell katrina white (my boss, few words about her a bit later) that it was a HUGE shock to me, i have no idea how it happened, that i don't think maternity leaves are a good thing for the business and i am happy to have a baby on a friday afternoon if i could get a half day off and i will be back the following monday. and could she please keep my job and not look at me this way... as if i were already gone to her...

it's such a weird feeling. it's a mixture of guilt for your own growing up, of fear of being treated like a "has been" who decided to desert the corporate army for some insignificant private revolution, someone who is not going to keep the wheel of corporate fortune rolling, someone who won't fit... and - it's their own bloody fault...

Monday, 14 April 2008


ok. so is this pregnancy a pigment of my imagination or it is really happening? is it just a perversive fantastic excuse to stuff my face with anything "that my body is asking me to", or are these really just pregnancy cravings? does my prego belly really crave snickers? i had two for lunch yesterday and their taste brought me close to ecstasy. Not very nutritious, I know. But i downed it down with some flaxseed oil afterwards, which - very kindly - my body seemed to crave too...

anyway, tomorrow is our first scan. i am 6 weeks pregnant if i calculate very very precisely from that big "O" day, or maybe i am week 8 depending on how the doctor chooses to measure it...

tomorrow, it's all about heartbeat (i think)... a heartbeat of a tiny human being, a tiny teeeeneeey heart that will be broken one time, saved another. a tiny heart that might one day turn into a revolutionary romantic and, hopefully, never a grey cynic.

till tomorrow...
apprehensive, hopeful

Tuesday, 1 April 2008


*** the real pregnancy blog you want to read ***

i have a niggling feeling that i got one of my first mood swings today. i got annoyed at the dinner when Mr Inconsiderate made a remark about my new laptop. It's the second time he went on about it in front of friends despite his reassurance that he's got no problem at all in me having converted our spare room in the last 12 months into an art studio and, basically, being a budding "artist" and the mac is the way forward...

anyway, tonight, i heard "can you believe it, she's just got a mac..." - my muscled stiffened, my hair stood on ends but i kept calm..."$ 4000 can you believe it" - i said quietly, generously peacefully "darling, enough".....he winked back with a mischievous smile... "and - if you saw all of her equipment, you wouldn't believe it either". by that point, i had an imaginary voodoo doll with pins in his manhood and i was twisting a large pine cone up him backside. i was raging...

an hour later... tears at home. slamming of the doors (the handle fell of), calming me down, me getting lauder, saying sorry, me saying never, him saying he loves my new mac, me calling him a liar, a cheat and a criminal. what father would put his baby at risk over a new mac! (pregnant women are not supposed to get stressed).

the wave of anger was unbelievable. it all finished about 15 minutes ago. since then i am actually quite a happy soul.
so this is what you call "pregnancy mood swings". blimey, many thanks!

i actually love being pregnant so far. i love googling anything and everything and will always have fun browsing here and there so i now have a brand new subject i google for! it's like a new lease of google-life: "pregnancy boobs - will they stay after", "ibiza and pregnancy", "night clubs and 1st trimester", "a bit of champagne and baby's health" etc.

oh joy!

Monday, 31 March 2008


*** the real pregnancy blog you want to read ***

ok. so i might be pregnant (i mean, i am), my boobs are ballooning at the speed of light, i look at my food like a wild predator (don't come anywhere near!) and i have weird dirty dreams but i am still a normal human who's breathing is closely related to those marc jacobs dress. just look at them! my heart stops!

i only got to ease my mood swings!