I feel like a kettle drum being played from the inside. The kids is using my rib cage as a glockenspiel. But I can't work out which bit of him is poking me where. It feels like he's got several extra limbs. Shit. Another thing to worry about...
I'm a freelance journalist who has put off parenthood for so long in order to cling doggedly to my career that my first thought when I missed my period was, "Crap! Menopause!" But no, it turns out that I am pregnant with my first child at the age of ...well, let's just say it's towards the upper limit of viable mumdom.
As a journalist, I have, of course, done my research (trawled around the internet looking at mum-to-be websites). And while I have found some Very Useful Information (don't boil your unborn child alive by having a sauna),I have also found a huge amount of unreadable clichéd drivel. There's not a hell of a lot out there that captures the way I feel right now (fearful, irritated, fascinated, a curious mix of fatalism and elation topped off with a pair of throbbing knockers which go off like car alarms at the slightest provocation)and I can't believe I'm the only one who feels this way. Hence this blog. A place for me to vent my anxieties and site to reassure other wavering, feckless mothers-to-be that yes, there is someone out there who is even less suited to parenthood than they are.
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