At 17 weeks and one day pregnant I was lazing in the bath with a pint of squash, some heinous novel and a litre of bath oil when HELLO WHO IS THIS KICKING AGAINST MY HAND.
(Spoiler: It wasn’t the cat).
I’d been feeling the classic is-this-gas-or-is-this-the-baby movements for a week or so, and had decided the best way to attempt to monitor them was to have my hand half down my pants whenever I was at home to try and physically feel them (because the baby seems to be sitting down in my knicker line rather than up by my belly button).
AND THEN I DID.
They’re hard to explain. They’re kind of like little kicks and rolls, and although they started off kinda slow (I had four days where I felt nothing and was doing that thing where I was like not panicking, nope, everything’s cool here, LOL JK WHERE IS MY BABY), I’m now feeling them every few hours which is completely and utterly freaking awesome.
They make everything feel more real and I guess you could say they make me feel like I’m developing some little bond with the alien currently residing in my belly lies.
I won’t lie, they’re also a very welcome relief. Because that’s the thing about this middle bit of pregnancy, it feels like you’re stuck in some dragging-on-forever limbo.
It’s been approximately 92 years since your last scan and so you start to doubt there’s even a baby in there. Aside from the fact that hello yes OK the scales say I’ve been eating too many biscuits and none of my clothes fit and why do I look like a human and a whale cross-breed?
And so the funny little movements reassure you, they stop you doing so many frantic midnight Google searches for morbid things. So that’s nice.
I also seem to have developed a new found appreciation for all food and am ravenous 72% of the time. OK no I’m lying to you, it’s 99% of the time.
I’m trying to snack on cold pears out of the fridge (does this count as a craving?), but also raspberry jam-laden toast keeps falling into my mouth and I ain’t even slightly sorry about it.
I’m also feeling happier and more myself than I have since about week five. Although I’m still pretty knackered and pretty partial to the odd afternoon nap and odd hormonal teary outburst about everything from missing my nan to not being able to have Nando’s for dinner.
So y’know, it’s a real lucky dip for Chris coming home from work. Which Hannah will he get? I’VE NAILED THREE BLOG POSTS TODAY AND WHAT SHALL I WHIP YOU UP FOR DINNER Hannah or WHY DON’ YOU LOVE ME AND WHY HAVEN’T YOU BOUGHT ME ANY PRESENTS Hannah.
What a lucky lad.
I’ve also found myself missing my best friends a lot too. The friends I’ve known the longest. The ones from outside the blogging world. The ones who’ve known me since beach parties and losing virginities. I’d give a lot to just be able to laze on the sofa in trackies with them, drinking tea and watching Harry Potter and chatting about mundane memories from school. It sucks to be so far away from them when I feel like I need them most.
I’m also about to type the ultimate pregnancy faux-pas. I really, really miss alcohol.
I miss the taste. I miss the social aspect, and I miss that warm buzz you get after a glass of wine at the end of a long week.
But hey, maybe that’s more of a bigger story for a bigger blog post another day.
I’ve been dedicating a lot of the last couple of weeks to long baths and face masks and bath bombs and reading. Of taking in the little pleasures and taking time for myself. Of switching off from work and the internet and doing that thing you’re supposed to do when you’re pregnant – y’know, actually taking it easy.
Which I’m sure most of you can imagine, is actually way harder than it sounds.
Us crazed millennials with our obsession with always being busy and being switched-on and doing. It’s quite hard to undo that kind of thinking, to actually pull back and relax without having earned it.
I thought I’d find it easy. That I’d be rejoicing in a slower pace of life, but I find myself feeling guilty and lazy, and I’m still happiest when I’m nailing productivity on a level a robot from the year 3000 would be impressed with.
OH AND GUYS, GUESS WHAT?
I went ahead and ordered myself one of those lame but wonderful ‘Baby on Board’ badges. Y’know the ones you wear on the Tube to alert people to the fact that you are in fact with child and no you haven’t just eaten at Meat Liquor and could anyone please be so kind as to give up their seat for you?
I’ve worn it a couple of times and it’s the most surreal thing. Firstly, it feels incredibly un-British, mostly because people will be like ‘Do you want a seat?’ and you suddenly panic and go: ‘Oh, no, no it’s fine’. Like, I know I’m wearing this badge that basically shouts to everyone within a ten metre radius that I would like a seat, but I don’t really. Nope. Not me. It’s all an elaborate joke.
It’s actually restored my faith in humanity a little bit, because the minute people seem to spy it, they leap out of their seats as though they’ve just seen someone giving away actual real-life Hogwarts acceptance letters.
And I always feel a bit like a fraud because I am fully capable of standing and then I say thank you about 72 times just so they know how gracious I am. And then I rub my belly a bit and push it out as far as it will go just in case anyone is like HANG ON BUT IS SHE REALLY PREGNANT?
Bring on week 20, the half way point and my next scan, I’m so bloody ready for you!