Friday, 28 September 2012

Down to earth with a bump (1) Tingling tits & peeing on sticks

It was 2007, when I first felt my tits tingle beneath my winter coat whilst walking up Regent Street on my lunch break. My OH Simon and I had been married for five months. Only five months.But the signs were all there. My boobs weren't sore as in prior to a period. They were just plain weird. Buzzing: it was both bizarre and alarming all at the same time. Oh and also rather nice.
And then there was a journey home one evening from my job on the mag. As I went underground at Piccadilly, a choir of school children angelically sang out Christmas carols to the hundreds of commuters passing each minute. I stood with the whirlwind of commotion rushing by. Oblivious to it all. Just aware of the beautiful sound these angels were creating. 5.45pm on a Tuesday night at the tube and I was transfixed with tears streaming down my face. I got home that night and said to Simon again: ‘I’m definitely pregnant.’

‘Do a test and we’ll see,’ he said still unconvinced.

It was one night. That was all it had been. One night without contraception. One drunken night where we were too lustful to even be remotely concerned about getting pregnant.

Anyway, when we did start to try for a baby, surely it would take at least a year to fall? With my track record of gynae problems I knew it wouldn’t happen instantly.

The test was negative. The cross in the window never materialised. Simon shrugged and I was baffled. ‘But I’m pregnant. I know I am. This is wrong.’

It had only been two weeks since my period. I must have been days – hours pregnant but instinctively I knew.

I repeated the test two weeks later – the day I was due on. It felt kind of weird. I didn’t know how I felt in all honesty.

A huge part of me was aware that my life was only just settled. My career prospects were great. Our home was wonderful and the two of us had so much fun. I wanted at least another year of what we had. On the other hand, perhaps a very tiny part of me would somehow be disappointed if the cross in the window did not materialise.

I woke early. It was a Saturday. I peed on the stick. Again. This time I left it on the side of the bath and went down to make a cup of tea. I couldn’t look. I asked Simon to. I stood at the foot of the stairs staring up at him at the top. ‘Well?’
He nodded and grinned. ‘Fliippin heck. You’re pregnant.’

We met somewhere on the stairs and hugged. I had to keep looking at the little cross that was actually there this time.

I kept that stick for weeks and continued to look at it to remind myself it was real. In the end for health reasons I had to throw it in the bin.

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