Pregnant? Beware The Voices of Doom

Today I am 27 weeks pregnant plus three days. I am not far off being seven months gone which means all I can say is THREE MONTHS TO GO! And that I should give myself a big pat on the back for getting here.

When we first found out about the little bundle of joy due in April we were both really excited. "Let's not get too carried away," we said to ourselves as at 5 weeks pregnant anything can happen. Then we had the first scan and there was the baby on the screen, literally nothing more than a blob waving at us. But it was still a bit early to get excited. We were desperate not to tempt fate and we only really relaxed after the second scan when we found out everything is progressing as it should. Fantastic.

But the trouble with being pregnant is that women who have experienced the delights of pregnancy themselves decide to share the more unpleasant aspects of pregnancy at every opportunity. By about 15 weeks I'd been told how I could expect my hands and feet to swell up and how, without a doubt I'd get stretch marks. How I'd put weight on so quickly that within a couple of months I'd resemble the Fat Lady at the circus. And how, by seven months I'd be so b big I'd be waddling like a penguin.

I would like to point out that at nearly seven months I do not resemble the Fat Lady and nor am I waddling. At the moment my hands and feet are the same size they were before I fell pregnant and touch wood, there isn't a single stretch mark in sight. Granted, I still have three months to go, but I do wish that those women (who were only trying to be helpful I am sure) had kept these revelations to themselves.

On the other hand whilst these women seemed to enjoy making me squirm with the idea of stretch marks and waddling, not one of them told me how surreal, how lovely it is to actually feel your baby move. And to be able to share it with your partner and enjoy his excitement when he feels the baby kick for the first time. Not to mention the warm fuzzy feeling you yourself feel when you hear the baby's heartbeat for the first time.

I won't lie to you. There are some days when I feel utterly uncomfortable with back ache, heartburn and lack of sleep, and let's not forget the morning sickness I experienced at the beginning. But what all those women forgot to tell me was that in the end, it will be worth it and if they could do it all again, they would.

The Incompetence of Bankers

In case you hadn't worked it out by now I am the sort of person who likes a simple life, which as far as I'm concerned is not a lot to ask.

So the fact that my bank makes banking so much more complicated that it needs to be is something that doesn't impress me much.

There is a particular account that I have had with my bank since I was old enough to open one and this account has been changed more often than Jordan's hair. However, it is something that I've put up with and got over. After all, banking bosses know best, right?

That is, until about a month ago my bank wrote a nice letter to me telling me that my account was changing again and they would be sending me a new card. In a separate letter they also told me that another account I hold with them is also changing to the same format. OK, I thought. It seemed straightforward enough and I could live with it.

Until the cards came. Some idiot had the brilliant brainwave of making these new cards identical with no way of differentiating between the two. Identical cards for two completely different accounts. Does that sound like common sense to you? My husband, fed up of me ranting about this idiocy asked me why I didn't know my account numbers as this would be enough for me to tell the cards apart. Rubbish! I've never memorised my card numbers and besides why would I need to? The little pictures on the card were always enough for me to tell the difference.

So, the bank was not really in my good books anyway and today I decided to visit my local branch to pay some money in, a task which I felt should be relatively straightforward. I was greeted at the door by a miserable looking member of staff who proceeded to tell me the bank was closing for ten/fifteen minutes for "security reasons" and could I call back then? I replied by saying I didn't have ten minutes and asked if I could use the quick pay machine, as well, it's quick pay.

Nope. I'd have to come back in ten minutes. Really annoyed with her I lost my rag a little (blame it on the hormones) and told her the bank was useless.

Ten minutes later I manged to find time to nip back before queuing up to pay my money in. I was greeted by another miserable looking member of staff. In light of the ten minute closure (which, by the way, was a huge inconvenience) and the identical bank cards I decided enough was enough and I would close my account. So once the cashier handed me my paying in book (without a smile) I asked how I go about closing an account and the conversation went something like this:

"You need to make an appointment."

"What for? I only want to close the account."

"You need to sit down and discuss it with someone and we need to either give you a cheque for the balance or transfer the money into a different account." (Translate: we're going to sit you down for an hour and try and persuade you to keep your account with us.)

"Don't worry, I'll be transferring the money across to a different account anyway. When can I make an appointment for?

"When do you want to come in?"

"Well, you tell me what you've got. I work 9 - 5."

"We open 9:30 to 4:3o."

"That's no good. What about lunchtime?"

"We don't see people over lunch."

"Well, when do you expect me to come in then?"

"Just a minute."

The cashier then proceeded to speak to another cashier who then agreed that they could see me at lunchtime after all.

Perhaps this is another clever scheme bankers have come up with. They obviously refuse to accommodate their customers which means customers must find a way of accommodating them. And who is going to take time off work just so they can close a bank account? Exactly.

Overall, I imagine it would be easier to break into Fort Knox.

The Complicated Process of Clearing Out

We've all done it. Woken up one morning thinking, right, today is the day that I clear out that room. You've put it off for long enough, now you just want it over and done with. You've no plans, it's raining outside so today is a good a day as any.

And I'm sure, like the rest of us, you've started off with gusto, making your way to the room armed with bin bags and cleaning products telling yourself that if you've not used something in the last six months, it's going.

The first couple of hours are normally quite productive and we all do seem to follow a set routine by starting off with the general rubbish. Then the paperwork gets tackled because that's relatively easy to sort through too as it gets filed or binned. It's only once you've got past the easy part that the clearing out process becomes so much more complicated.

You find something that you thought you'd lost for ages. You start digressing by reading or playing with things long forgotten. You start getting bored. It's already been three or four hours and you are surrounded by bin bags and rubbish with no end in sight. Then there are the bits that you really don't know what to do with. That teddy from your childhood. The other three hundred teddies that your partner bought you. A particular framed photograph. The idea is to clear the room out completely but what to do with those darned bears? Charity shop or attic? Either way, you know you'll never see those poor teddies again because the beauty of attics is you can throw things up there willy nilly and never have to worry about it again (until it's time to clear the attic out, but that's OK, it's a good ten years down the line!)

And the reason I have discovered just how complicated the clearing out process is? Because our office is being converted into the nursery. Which means everything has to go. Everything. The desk got moved into the spare bedroom but before any of the furniture could be moved it took a whole two days to clear everything out. Two weeks later there are still bits left which I just don't know what to do with.

Thankfully we are nearly there. What's being thrown out has been thrown out. What's being relocated has been relocated. And what's going into the attic has just gone up. But it meant that I had to be hard and sadly, some of those poor bears just did not make it.

It's tough being a girl.

Looking Back: Deep Fried Mars Bar? Mmm, Yes Please!

I'm not the sort of person who likes trying new things. Don't get me wrong, I'm open minded and I will try most things at least once but more often than not I end up not liking it. Food in particular. I like my food plain and simple, a fact which my husband of two years still has trouble getting used to. He cannot understand for the life of him how anyone can eat a cheese sandwich without any chutney or how one person can eat pasta without the sauce. I can because quite simply I don't care for accompaniments. And yes, I am the sort of person who NEVER uses salt and pepper after the food has been served.

Now there is one thing that I have never tried and absolutely refuse to, and that's olives. If I thought long and hard about it, I'm sure I could come up with other food stuffs that I would not be willing to eat, but for the time being, we'll just stick to olives.

My husband loves olives. The only thing I like about them is the feta cheese that sometimes accompanies them! Olives, as far as I'm concerned, should never have been invented by God or science or whatever else you believe about how the world started. They look horrible, they smell horrible and the mere thought of eating one actually makes me want to gag.

So, basically, I am not particularly keen on trying new things. And yet oddly enough, when I heard about the deep fried Mars Bars that had suddenly taken hold, I actually found myself wanting to try one. Shock horror. My husband thought I'd gone mad but whenever we went near a chippy I'd always check to see if they did deep fried Mars Bars. Unfortunately I didn't have much luck and although I didn't forget about the deep fried Mars Bars the chances of actually trying one were looking slim.

And then last year, we were on holiday in Yorkshire with my husband's family. We'd planned a day out to Whitby which of course included fish n chips for lunch. Let's face it, there's no way you can go to Whitby and not try the fish. And chips. We'd all gone our separate ways and my husband and I found a decent looking takeaway serving fish n chips.

So were standing in the queue. I happened to glance at the board and lo and behold there were those four words which I'd never thought I'd find:

DEEP FRIED MARS BAR

I excitedly poked my husband in the ribs who looked up at the board, then at my face before saying, "I take it you want one, then?"

Well, duh! My dream had come true! A deep fried Mars Bar at last!

Obviously, after we had found some seating, the Mars Bar was the first thing I unwrapped before staring at it apprehensively for a few moments. I'd waited such a long time for this. What if it was really horrible?

Staying open minded is the key and besides, my husband was really eager to try it too. So we had some each, and, oh boy, it is one of the yummiest things I have ever tasted. My husband felt the same and it was all we could do not to go and get another one! Trust me, it was worth the wait!

Everyone thought we'd lost the plot completely, raving about how good this deep fried Mars Bar was, but more importantly I had finally tried it.

And the point I'm making? You should be prepared to try everything at least once because you might be pleasantly surprised. Except olives. They definitely do not count.

Lushed Up And Liking It

Well, today is Thursday and it’s, what two days since my first blog? Considering how my very disorganised friend has managed to write two more since her first (very funny) blog I’ve got some catching up to do….

Yesterday, I decided to have a bath. There’s no reason why you should find this interesting, but why don’t you just humour me because, in my house, a bath is a BIG event.

Let’s put it like this. In reality I’m probably what you might call quite a sad person. I have two best friends. I work 9 – 5 (most days) and when I’m not working I’m sorting out my customers trying ever so hard not to lose patience with the ones who are never home. I very rarely go out in the evenings and is it just me, or has TV got really boring over the last few months? Not only that, but being six months pregnant does have its downside such as bad heartburn and a back that never stops aching. Roll on April, that’s all I can say. Anyway, getting back to the point, sometimes, I feel like a bath and when I feel like a bath, out comes the book I’m currently reading, the bathroom door gets locked and no one sees me for two hours or sometimes even longer. Seriously. The first time we went on holiday with my husband’s family, his aunt thought I’d drowned.

BUT, my very good friend, Mrs B, introduced me to this fantastic shop called Lush, which makes bath time so much more fun! (Imagine a child at Christmas…) I start off with running the water before getting out my lovely smelling bubble bar and crumbling some of that under the tap to get lots and lots of lovely smelling bubbles. Once I’ve been in for a good couple of hours, out comes the soap, then the shower scrub, before I finally get out, dry myself down and rub some sparkly massage bar all over me. Yes, before bed. And yes, it does make me sparkly, but who cares? The truth is I didn’t actually realise that the massage bar was sparkly before I bought it, but shhhh, no one needs to know, do they? Besides, it smells very nice. And it makes me feel good and at the end of the day, that’s the most important thing, isn’t it?

The only trouble is, by the time I’m done, the whole of the upstairs floor smells like a Lush store but at least it means we don't have to buy air freshener….



Today I woke up feeling very excited at the thought I was going to get to drive again after three weeks. Due to the snow and ice over Christmas and in January we felt it would be safer for me not to drive, and no, this wasn’t because I would be putting other drivers at risk (you were thinking it!). Being six months pregnant we were both worried about what damage a fall could do so we felt the bus was a safer option as it would drop me off straight in town.

Even then it was still a nightmare having to navigate the slippery pavements. If I was an accomplished ice skater wearing a pair of ice skates I would have been just fine, but like the rest of the nation, I had to resort to baby steps, hanging on to ridiculously low walls whilst slipping and sliding without much dignity back and forth from work.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was to find out that most of the ice had completely thawed yesterday and the pavements were finally safe to walk on. Not only that, but it meant, after three weeks, I could finally drive to work. I went to bed last night, completely chilled out thanks to my Lush filled two hours and content with the idea that I wouldn’t have to worry about running for the bus or breaking my neck.

And what happens this morning? I wake up to find that once again the town has turned white overnight. AGAIN! Haven’t we had enough? I spent about ten minutes ranting and raving to myself about the snow and the Council’s lack of action before I realised that (a) I’d better get a move on because I would not only be subjecting myself to the ice and snow again, but I’d also be late for work and (b) the snow wasn’t as bad as I’d originally thought and it would be perfectly safe for me to drive.

All I can say is thank the Lord that it has completely thawed out again and we don’t have to suffer through another week like the one we’ve just had. I honestly don’t think I could do it all over again. It’s bad enough getting stressed out when you get to work. It’s even worse when you get stressed out thinking about how the hell you’re going to get to work in the first place.

24, Married and Pregnant

OK, so here I am writing my first ever (non fictional) blog. My friend thought it would be a good idea for me as a wannabe writer and she says I would be very good at it. Me, I'm not so sure. She has been convinced from day one that I am a good writer and now I am displaying my writing skills for all the world to see I think it will get to the point where I will actually get kicked off blog sites like these because my writing is that bad.

My friend on the other hand IS a good writer and she doesn't believe me. Let me state for the record that I have always believed she should attempt to write a book which I also think will be far better than anything I can ever come up with.

Anyway, seeing how this blog is supposed to be about me, I'd better start writing about me, although why anyone would actually be interested in me and my life is beyond me. But, hypothetically, let's pretend I have a very keen following so at least I can try and work out how to make my oh so boring life sound really cool and exciting.

Here are the facts. I am 24 years old, married and six months pregnant (which I cannot still quite believe). I work sort of full time at a solicitors office and I am an Avon Rep. Cue Avon Calling jokes.

So it all depends on what you want to know. My job is a job. It's not a career and it's not exactly what you would call fulfilling and rewarding. But it is a job which is something considering the current economic climate. And the added bonus is that I actually sort of enjoy it.

It is possible to sort of enjoy a job. I like the company of the people I work with. The work I do is challenging and although I might have days where I hate everyone from my bosses to the clients, on a general day to day basis, it's not bad as far as jobs go.

On the side I am an Avon Rep which is quite rewarding if you get a good area with good customers, which I seem to have. It can get a bit repetitve at times and I'm sure anyone else would feel the same if they had to do the same thing over and over again but it sort of works like this. You take your brochures out, you collect them back in. You take the next lot out and collect those back in. You take them out again...well, you get the picture. Then you gather all your orders and send them in to Avon before the deadline. The actual delivery comes one week later when you have to package all your orders up and take them out to your customers. And don't forget, Avon only works if you put the effort in which means, wind, rain, or in the current weather situation, snow and ice, you go out regardless. And then once you've actually taken your deliveries out the whole routine starts again.

I'm not exactly selling Avon as a good business venture, am I? But it's worth it for the commission you get out of it, and you have a bit of a banter with the customers which is always a bit of a laugh.

And the third and final thing you want to know about me? I'm six months pregnant and loving (almost) every minute of it. Let's put it like this; dashing to the toilet every moring for eighteen weeks to chuck up your breakfast is not my idea of fun. Feeling hungry even when you've eaten which then makes you sick? Sounds lovely. But once I managed to get past the first eighteen weeks it's actually kind of been fun. Feeling the baby move. Finding out the sex. Hearing it's heartbeat. Buying baby clothes.

To cut a long story short, the due date is April 24th and my husband and I feel that it can't come round fast enough. Sods law says though, after the baby is born we'll be craving this time where we actually had a bit of peace and quiet!