that wasn’t in the brochure….

Before I got pregnant, I thought I knew a thing or two about the joys of being up the duff. I was by no means an expert but I had witnessed numerous friends and family go through the process, so I thought I was pretty up to speed on what to expect when expecting. And I was. Except for a few little things that people had magically left off of the list….

Here are some of the gems that I have learnt along the way.

  1. medium_6832566733You’ll miss your vagina. Seriously, I haven’t seen it in weeks, maybe months. I miss it. I’m pretty convinced it needs some “tending to” (mental note to book waxing appointment asap)
  2. You might want to consider buying a dog. Much easier to blame those stinky farts that will haunt you for 8 months on a dog than a partner who knows it wasn’t him.
  3. You’ll share things with people like never before. Something about having a pregnant belly makes you community property. Not only will everyone want to share their story with you, but also towards the end, you find yourself having no concerns at all sharing your bits with whoever will listen. In the last couple of weeks I’ve had in depth conversations with other women about the state of my vagina and what is/isn’t normal this far along in my pregnancy – conversations I never thought I’d have.
  4. The boobs you always wanted might just piss you off. This was a real disappointment for me. I had always looked forward to the perks of perky boobs during pregnancy. But when I found myself carrying around a set of double D’s, they were no where near as fun as I had imagined. Disappointing for N too… am sure he’s been dying to play with them the whole time. Poor bastard.
  5. medium_2685851866Heels WILL become the devil. As much as I thought I was going to be “different”, I’m not. I don’t care who you are, being 8 months pregnant and wearing heels to anything other than a super special occasion is insane. I look forward to welcoming stilettos back into my life in a few months time but for now, they are the devil.
  6. People will touch you. A lot. Not only doctors, family and friends (all of which are fine), total strangers will have a good old feel around too. Stranger Danger has been a pretty constant issue for me.
  7. You’ll miss the simple things. Putting on shoes with ease, bending over in general, eating ham. Oh how I miss thee.
  8. It is possible to want to vomit AND eat, at precisely the same time. I was very lucky in the early days of my pregnancy and didn’t suffer a lot from morning sickness. But, who knew that at precisely the same moment, you could have the strongest desire to scoff a bowl of carbs AND throw up. Lucky for me, the carbs usually won.
  9. You will learn the meaning of true patience…. From your partner. Those poor boys. Seriously, I have a newfound respect for the patience of my man. Putting up with me for the last 9 months is something I wouldn’t want to do. Must remember to thank him for that with afore mentioned waxed vagina in about 6 months time. 😉
  10. You’ll pretty much be petrified the entire time. From day dot, I’ve been scared about something. The first few days were pure terror from the realization Fearfulthat there was no way in the whole world that I was ready to be a mother. The next 12 weeks were full of fear about being able to hold onto the embryo that I didn’t realize I wanted so badly. The next 6 months have been a constant balance of irrational fears about eating the wrong food, my baby not moving enough or in the right way, an upcoming scan and basically everything and anything to do with the health of this little person I am carrying. Then there’s the birth bit – you can read about the fear associated with that here.

The most valuable thing people dont tell you is that you are stronger than you think. Through all of the panic and sometimes uber uncomfortable parts of pregnancy, you’ll be fine. You’re tougher and more resilient than you ever gave yourself credit for. Mentally AND physically. That’s why women get to do this bit. Men would crumble.

What surprised you about your pregnancy journey? I’d love to hear from you.

Xx A

photo credit: <a href=””></a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

photo credit: <a href=””>Chapendra</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

photo credit: <a href=””>cowbite</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

he has ears

So I’m not sure how it happened but I’m now almost 25 weeks into this journey.  The time has gone so incredibly fast that I would very much appreciate it if someone could tell me where the last 10 or so weeks have gone.  If the last 10 have gone so fast, the next 15 are no doubt going to be over and done with in a flash. Then, we have a child.

(stepping away from laptop to have a mild panic attack about that – be back soon)

Ok, so I’m back. Lets stop thinking about the impending arrival of this little person and get back on topic.

According to all of the pregnancy related crap you are supposed to read whilst growing something inside of you, my baby now has ears. This is awkward – for more reasons than one. But mostly – I swear. A lot. Too much many would say.

medium_712869704It’s no surprise to anyone that knows me that, as much as I can be a bit of a princess, I tend to have the mouth of a trucker. A pretty pissed off, drunk on cheap beer trucker.  It’s not something I intentionally do and to be honest I don’t think I even realize I’m doing it most of the time. There is no denying it though. I’m a total potty mouth.

I don’t use all of the swear words. You could say I’m a snob when it comes to my swearing. The C word is totally off limits and I will judge you if you say it in my presence. The F word however, is pretty much a staple and the S word, well, that’s not even a swear word anymore is it? Oh, it is. Well, the problem may be worse than first thought.

I don’t tend to swear with malice and I try to curb my swearing when in the presence of children (not sure if I have been successful but I’m sure my friends will let me know). I do my best to keep the swearing at work to a minimum, but I don’t think I’m very successful at that. My relaxed relationship with my parents makes it hard to watch my language around them, although Dad does still tell me off (never too old hey!) and I try to not swear within 5 minutes of meeting someone for the first time.

Even with all of those things in mind, I’m still a drunken trucker most of the time.

But now HE can hear me. I’m not silly enough to think that he can understand my words, but the knowledge that he has tiny, perfect ears that have never been exposed to the foul mouth of a drunken trucker, makes me want to keep them that way.

So mission number one in the quest to preserve my little guys ears – STOP SWEARING.

Well, cut down at least. Shit, lets be realistic, you have to run before you can walk.

xx A

photo credit: <a href=””>KatovonKiwi</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

my ever-growing lady lumps

The pregnant body…. Amazingly clever and wonderful and giving of life and all that. Growing to provide strength and life to my little one. I get it.

But seriously, no one said I had to love it.

I made the mistake today of going bra shopping. I had done the same thing only 3 weeks ago. Upgrading my lovely 10c’s to a new set of 12d’s that were nowhere near as pretty but did a fair job of holding my much fuller, porn star looking boobs into place. Clearly I underestimated my potential.

Today, after a few days of growing discomfort in my brand new 12d’s I decided to hit the shops and see about getting a different set of bras.  And hey, we have so much money to throw around, what’s another $150 spent on underwear (NOT!).

big boobies!

big boobies!

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to 14d territory. Welcome to my utter dismay at the sheer size of my once “handful is just enough” boobs. I have never been a 14 anything. Ever. It’s not a number I’m either familiar with or comfortable with. Not that I have issue with size 14 women. I say that as long as you are healthy, be whatever size you like, and I love the fact women come in all different shapes and sizes. Its just that for me, this was the first time that I really, truly feel like I have lost control of my body.

I’ve always tried to look after myself. Eaten well and gone through sporadic bouts of loving exercise followed by periods of doing none at all. Throughout it all though, I have been in total control of my weight and how my body looks.

Not anymore folks! These 14d’s have landed on my chest like a sack of potatoes and nothing I can do is going to stop them. I’ve only put on about 3.5kgs since getting up the duff so I can’t place the blame on huge weight gain or blowing out on bad food. This is purely my body doing its thing. My body deciding that a career in a titty mag might be an option to consider, should my current job go tits up (mind the pun).

Many women love the added boobage that comes along with being pregnant. To be honest, I

the dreaded tape

thought I would too. But alas, I am not. I am struggling to embrace my newfound lady lumps. I’m actually struggling to embrace anything – too much boob in the way. They are heavy and they sore, and no doubt, going to get even bigger.

So the control freak in me has had to learn a hard lesson today. My boobs are no longer my own, and neither is the rest of my body.

Both my changing body and how it’s made me feel is no doubt a sign of what is to come. I need to learn to accept the changes that lie ahead, for both my body and my mind. I need to learn to accept my 14d’s. I need to accept that they might turn into 14dd’s (god no).

I need to accept that my body is no longer mine. I’ll get it back one day but for now, over to you my ever-growing lady lumps. Do your thing and I’ll do my best to not totally freak out.

xx A

the lesson of miss nine and miss six

I’m spending tonight with 2 little munchkins. Miss Nine and Miss Six. It seems like five minutes ago they were Miss Four and Miss One. Where has the time gone?

It makes me think, it’s going to go so fast. In a flash, I’m going to have a Mr One and then a Mr

where has the time gone?

Four and before you know it, the little dude in my belly will be off to get a job and go to university and be a grown up. One day he’ll be Mr Thiry.


A friend pointed out something to me the other day. We were talking about a weddings and the topic of mother of the groom came up. All of a sudden, it clicked for him. One day, I would be the mother of the groom. One day I will have a real life grown up son who is a MAN does adult things like working and getting married and even having babies of his own.


Its kind of a permanent thing my mate suddenly said to me. Yep. Having a baby is totally permanent. No turning back. No giving it back. No backing out now. This is a job I’ll have forever. My Mr Peanut will be Mr Forty one day and I’ll still be his mum. Forever. I think I am in love with the idea. Forever. Not much is forever these days. But that. Yep, that’s permanent.

But, as I sit here with Miss Nine and Miss Six, I am filled with this sudden sense of time. How quickly it is going to pass and how precious it is.

Ever so quickly, little Miss Nine will be Miss Nineteen (I probably wont be as cool to her then) and Miss Six will be Miss Sixteen (and probably staying at my place as mum thinks she’s been at the library instead of the party down the road). I’ll be Miss Forty and my peanut will be Mr Ten.


But alas, I can’t turn back time. Everyone knows not even Cher can do that. I can’t stop it either. So, the lesson Miss Nine and Miss Six are teaching me tonight is to treasure it. Each moment. Each year. Because before you know it, the years are gone and everyone is getting too old too fast and you cant get that back.

xx A

Lets talk about the cake

I went to a wedding on the weekend. One of those beautiful, fun filled weddings where you can literally taste the joy in the air and the love of 2 people is so strong that it infects the crowd.

What a stunning day it was.  Sunshine, romance, family and friends.

But lets get down to business. Lets be honest…. I’m pregnant….lets talk about the cake.

6 months ago a wedding was a very different sort of occasion for me. One which included some pre wedding champers, a bottle of sav blanc and traditionally, a hang over.

Nowadays, a wedding includes finding the right pair of shoes that wont see me spend the evening in tears, numerous questions about what exactly is contained in that little canapé and the unrelenting search for that non alcoholic drink that makes me feel a little bit special (so far soda and lime served in a wine glass is the front runner)… oh, and the cake. Don’t forget the cake.

The cake on the weekend was to die for. A little slice of chocolate and sponge heaven that literally changed my night.

Up until that point I had been all fake smiles and empty pleasantries. Well, to strangers anyway. I’m sure N would say I had been my usual, sarcastic, unrelentingly nitpicking self – a side effect of the inappropriate choice of shoe I made that morning and lack of pre reception champers no doubt.

But then, a delightful little Swedish waitress brought me a plate of wedding cake.

Gone was the pain of my bad footwear and the daydreaming about grabbing the glass of NZ Sav out of my mothers hands. I was in cake heaven. A place I didn’t even know existed until pregnancy. I was a changed woman.

What a simple pleasure. A simple but mood altering and eye opening pleasure.

It made me think….. (this was some pretty powerful cake!)

Social outings have always been a big part of my life. Its not just something that fills our weekends but it’s also a big part of my job. With that comes the standard consumption of a few Sav Blancs, a fabulous pair of heels and a spin on the dance floor. It is somewhat part of my identity.

So, when this baby decided to make a little home in my belly, I was decidedly nervous about the impending social silly season, glittered with countless wedding and party invitations and how exactly I would cope with a whole new set of rules. It wasn’t like I felt like I needed a drink. I just felt that without it, things wouldn’t be as fun as they usually are. This weekend, those illusions were shattered.

I stayed until closing.

I danced to Gangnam Style (sorry babe)

I’m pretty sure a 23 year old chatted me up.

Not bad for a very sober, sore footed pregnant chick.

Told you it was powerful cake.

I have another wedding to go to this weekend. Sure to be just as love filled and joyous as the one just passed. I’m destined to be just as sober and my footwear is going to be just as inappropriate. But this time, my attitude will be different.

I’ve learnt that I am just as much fun with a baby in my belly. I’m just as good on the dance floor and apparently just as chat up-able for the odd 23 year old. I don’t need the pre reception champers or the NZ sav to have a good time. Just a few soda and limes, a friendly waitress and of course, cake.

Don’t forget the cake.

xx A