Rebecca's blog: A bumpy start - Shock, advice, sickness & laughter

Meet P&b’s new columnist Rebecca Atkinson as she discovers she’s unexpectedly expecting

By askamum

After four negative tests I’ve finally got a BIG FAT POSITIVE on a midnight trip to the loo.

My normally regular period is a week late, but up until now the tests haven’t confirmed my suspicions. I stare at the stick and a strange involuntary squeal escapes from my mouth.

I’m not sure if it’s a happy ‘hurrah for the miracle of life’ squeal, or a quaking-in-my-boots ‘how on earth am I going to cope with two kids 17 months apart?!’ squeal of fear. It’s the middle of the night but one thing’s for sure: I’m wide awake with the shock.

HERE WE GO AGAIN
As mum to eight-month-old Alfie, I was just starting to enjoy the welcome return of unbroken nights. I’d started to work part time and had plans to resurrect my lapsed gym membership to sort out my mum tum and rapidly sagging bum. I knew I wanted more children, maybe in two or three years, but tiny feet certainly weren’t dancing on my horizon just yet.

Crawling back into bed, I nudge my partner J to tell him the news. ‘Whaaat?’ he slurs and rolls over. I poke him with a frantic finger. ‘It’s positive,’ I say. ‘Whaaat is?’ he drones back. ‘The test. I’m pregnant.’ J sits bolt upright in bed and looks at me with bleary eyed shock. ‘Pregnant? You’re joking?’ ‘No,’ I reply. J pauses for a moment and then a big smile cracks across his face.

The next few weeks pass by in a blur and our initial shock soon makes way for excitement. But as the news sinks in that three will soon become four, morning sickness decides to make an appearance, too.

SICK OF THIS – LITERALLY
I’m so exhausted I can barely move and the contents of my stomach seem to teeter permanently on the brink of making a reappearance. I could easily sleep for 16 hours but would still inevitably wake up feeling like every limb in my body was filled with lead weights. I realise I had it so easy when I was expecting Alfie – endless lie-ins, sitting around on the sofa watching telly all afternoon or luxuriating in the bath for hours on end.

This time round I’ve got to get up at 5.30am every morning and gag my way through nappy changes. As Alfie sits patiently in his buggy in the hall, I run to the bathroom to be sick one more time before hitting the soft play drop-in or library rhyme time.

er, THANKS FOR THE ADVICE
I feel rotten and I want the world to know it so they can lavish me with sympathy. The thing is, I’m not supposed to tell anyone for the next six weeks until I’ve had my scan. But I’ve turned such a horrid shade of a grey that I can’t conceal it from my nearest and dearest any longer.

I let the cat out of the bag, and advice and opinions predictably come flying back at me. What is it about pregnancy and advice? Everyone seems to have some, most of which you’ve heard a million times before. ‘Take a vitamin B6 supplement,’ says my sister. ‘Eat gingernut biscuits in bed before you get up,’ says my friend. ‘You’re probably having a girl,’ conspires my aunt. ‘Girls make you more nauseous.’

When I tell my mum, she tells me I should always laugh after being sick so that my son doesn’t find the sound of his mummy barfing in the bathroom too distressing. ‘Make him think it’s some sort of game,’ she says. Hmm… giggling while gagging. There’s something I never thought I’d try.