Pregnancy Diary: My First Trimester



I thought it might be nice to document my pregnancy in words – not just for you fellas, but for me too. So that I have something to look back on in years to come when I’m surrounded by Pegga Pig toys and want to desperately remember a life when I was still mildly cool and fun and WHAT IN THE SWEET DICKENS HAVE I DONE?!

I’m thinking about doing an update post every fortnight, as to not completely suffocate those of you who find pregnancy and babies about as exciting as a patch of mud.

And, well, this is my first one. So hello! Welcome to the partaaaaay. Make yourself a tea. Actually NO, make yourself something stronger. Maybe a Pornstar Martini or like a coffee with four shots. I dunno, have one of the wonderful delights that I am no longer entitled to. Do it for me, please.

I had big hopes when I first found out I was pregnant. Big hopes to write about it. I’d even started thinking (after a particularly meh trip to Waterstones a mere 12 hours after the ol’ positive wee stick) that maybe I could write some witty, hilarious, raw pregnancy diary book.

And for the first few days of OH MY GOD THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING, I’d get lost in my inner monologue, planning chapters and funny stories and paragraphs, but was seemingly too lazy to actually jot anything down on paper.

And then, well, the shit show that is the first trimester really got under way, and lads, I felt too dire to cook anything that took longer than three minutes, let alone type up some thoughts on being pregnant.

So for this post, you’ll just have to deal with my wonderful memory and reflections back over the past three months.

I found out I was pregnant on a Thursday at around 4.30pm. I’d just left my passport on a flight back from Corfu (can you blame baby brain when you’re four weeks pregnant or nah?), jumped on a train back to Ipswich, dumped my suitcase in the hallway and run up the stairs to pee on a stick before I’d even said HI, I LOVE YOU, I MISSED YOU to the cats.

My period wasn’t ~actually~ late at this stage, but I’d become convinced I might be pregnant due to one WOAH WHAT’S GOING ON HERE symptom. I had really sensitive nipples. Nipples that would really let me know whenever I grazed past a door. Nipples that seemed to want to get my attention all the bloody time. Nipples that well, were clearly trying to let a girl know that EMERGENCY EMERGENCY THERE IS A BABY TRYING TO GROW IN YOUR UTERUS.

And pregnant I was.

Four weeks and five days to be exact.

We were excited, we were shocked, we were a bit anxious, but mostly we were like WHICH SIDE OF THE BED SHALL WE PUT THE BABY COT?

My fifth week of pregnancy was pleasant. I spent a lot of it convinced I was bleeding (I wasn’t). And a lot of time convincing myself I had cravings (I didn’t, but if you can’t use pregnancy as an excuse to get chip shop chips for dinner, then when can ya?).

My sixth week of pregnancy was not so pleasant. It rolled in like a dark cloud carrying Death Eaters and vomit and sleep potion. Whilst I wasn’t actually sick until around week nine or ten (super nicely timed for our California road trip), I did feel nauseous for around 75% of the time.

I went off coffee, tea, Diet Coke, eggs and all vegetables and bulk ate buttery crumpets and Cheeselets to take the sickness edge off.

I’d had these big LOL plans to drink homemade green juices every day and do yoga at least twice a week but the reality was that I actually just wanted to curl into the foetal position and gently sob.

I craved my babcia’s chicken noodle soup. I craved homemade spaghetti bolognese. I craved this intense desire to be looked after and waited on 24 hours a day, a bit like a five-year-old off school with a snotty nose.

Being pregnant is a wonderful, glittering miracle, but lord almighty, growing a human is about as easy as becoming an acrobat. Why didn’t they teach us that in sex education, eh?

Although the nausea was a challenging mistress, by far the biggest first trimester hurdle was the loneliness. The absolute feeling of being completely alienated from everyone and feeling like I’d been muted. Feeling at my worst and yet not being able to openly acknowledge it with the wider world.

My way of coping with life changes is to talk about it and to write about it – to engage in chats via Twitter, to read the comments on my blog, to hear things that make me realise that I got this and I’m not alone.

And you can’t do that when you’re newly pregnant. I mean you can. But had I spoken out about being pregnant before my 12-week scan and then lost the baby, would I have been able to forgive myself? Probably not.

(Even though obviously miscarriage has absolutely nothing to do with how many people you do or don’t tell and is in no way the fault of the mother).

So you don’t. You keep quiet. You vomit into airplane sickness bags and don’t tweet about it and just try and get on with your life like it’s 1962 or some other age when people didn’t overshare about every aspect of their lives via the internet.

Seeing our healthy, wriggly baby at that 12-week scan and knowing we could finally let the world in on our secret was so overwhelmingly wonderful that I feel a little teary reflecting back on it.

I had my first proud mum moment when the sonographer repeated at least three times ‘this baby is such a poser’. My babe, my Instagram superstar. I mean, I have no idea where he/she gets it from…

We waited a couple more weeks to announce it to you internet lads and lasses so that we could attempt to tell as many people as possible face-to-face or at least over the phone, because seeing people’s reactions has by far been one of my favourite things about pregnancy so far. That and being able to order a Baby On Board badge, obvs.

Other things that happened in those first 12 weeks: My boobs jumped up a casual two bra sizes and became too painful for me to sleep on my front. Every time I attempted to brush my teeth I retched into the sink. My three-legged cat brought me a nice pregnancy gift in the shape of a dead bird. I cried no less than five times because I was starving and couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted to eat. And oh I went to a wedding and had to pretend to shot Jagermeister to a crowd of fellow wedding guests.

It has been one heck of a rollercoaster. But a rollercoaster I wouldn’t change for the world.

Baby, I am so excited to meet you.


Dress from Primark, shoes from ASOS and photos by Chloe Plumstead.


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