CHAPTER TEN: Alright, Alright, Everythings gonna be alright

Today I am 14 weeks and one day pregnant.

My app lovingly tells me my tiny human (whom I’ve nicknamed Blueberry) is the size of a house mouse. Nice.

My precious rodent.

We did the road-trip yesterday to tell my parents and The Captain’s dad and step-mother. We did the trip to his Mum last weekend. So the parents are informed.

There is a bump. I’ve been slack and not taken enough photos of it, but here is last week’s update.

Today is the first day of my second trimester. I feel like I can breathe a little more. Not a lot, because I know well enough that terrible things can still happen, but a little. And that’s a relief.

Still not being facebook-official about baby but letting people know as it comes up in conversation. I still get panicky about announcing anything but I’m getting calmer.

It’s gonna be alright.

B xx

CHAPTER NINE: Keep Holding On. Or playing the Hunger Games of Pregnancy

I’ve been slack in not writing for a while. Which is hilarious in a way because I’ve been delaying these posts anyway so no-one would ever have known unless I told you. But I am telling you. I’ve been hiding.

I keep thinking I should write. I should spell out the magic of this pregnancy in week 4 with the boobs so sore I cried, week 5 with that one day I felt like I was on a boat and probably vomited a million times and all of the other tiny nuances of being up the duff.

But I didn’t.

Because mostly I am still just afraid. I live in a bubble of barely-bearable fear that one day I’ll go to the toilet and discover a bleed. Or even worse, I won’t. And that we’ll go to a scan at some point in the future and the ultrasound technician will have to tell me that my tiny human has stopped growing. It’s a gnawing fear that I know I should ignore, but it lives there in the pit of my stomach alongside the tiny blueberry-sized creature whom I love already.

The thing is, I am having a pretty darn easy pregnancy. Some slightly sore boobs, one day where I spewed and the occasional bit of feeling erky. And then these things will disappear for days at a time. These tiny clues that my body is changing and adapting go away, and I panic that a viable pregnancy will go away with them.

There is the double-edged sword in my life that is pregnancy forums and secret facebook pages. Because we haven’t (and won’t) announce for quite a while, there is a secret community of fellow secretly-knocked-up women who convene in facebook land and can complain together of our aches and pains, our plans and tests, our thoughts and fears. All of us are in the ‘pregnant but not publically pregnant’ phase together. It’s nice. And comforting mostly. Except of course, that 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage.

It feels like every day, I log in and there is a post from someone else saying “Sorry Ladies, looks like I’ll be leaving the group…” and a short explanation of how/why they’ve realised that they aren’t going to carry a healthy baby this pregnancy. Every time, I cry. I realise how incredible the odds are. And like the cannons firing in the Hunger Games, I am both filled with sadness that someone is leaving our ranks and relief that I have made it another day.

Today I am 8 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Only 220 days to go :)

With love and the absence of cannon-fire,

B xx

CHAPTER EIGHT: The Joy and Terror in Knowing

So, I know that I’m pregnant. It’s amazing and wonderful and beyond super exciting.

And scary.

Both personally and in my close circle of friends, I’ve learned and experienced way too much about early-term pregnancy loss and miscarriage. It’s far more common that people realise. Mostly because not everyone talks about it, including me.

Despite having a blog and sharing my life on the internet, I’m a pretty private person. There is NO WAY I’ll be announcing this pregnancy until it is well and truly viable and outside the danger zone of the first few months where the statistics put reported miscarriages at 1 in 5 of ALL pregnancies.

I often say to people though, it’s YOUR news, control it the way you want. For me, I keep the news of our babies very very quiet because if we were to lose this baby I would want to keep to myself to reflect and grieve and recover without having to un-announce a baby.

For other people, sharing the news of the pregnancy and a subsequent potential loss to more people would give them a bigger pool of support to draw from if they needed it. Horses for Courses.

It seems cruel in a way.

Find out you’re pregnant.

Immediately fall in love with your tiny womb-raider.

Spend the next few months terrified they might die through no-one’s fault but nature’s whim.

I’m choosing to stay positive. It’s all I can do. Eat well, move lots, take the vitamins and rest.

Chilling out, hatching a human,

B xx


I don’t even know how to write this post. I’m not sure that I should.

But then, that’s what this whole raft of delayed blog posts has been about isn’t it? To help with the fear of this all being out in the open. To give me a buffer of time to process if things go wrong.

Because today, after a week of refusing to pee on sticks because I was losing my mind, I peed on a stick.

This stick:


Yep. There’s been some happy crying.

The stupid sticks were lying to me. I have been hatching a tiny human for 2-3 weeks and the sticks were lying. Or baby is stealthy? Like the Captain? Maybe I’m hatching a tiny ninja?

Speaking of the Captain, it’s his birthday in a few days. I’m going to keep super quiet about it until then and surprise him.

Best birthday present ever.

I’m so excited that I’m shaking.

Full of love and a tiny ninja,

B xx

CHAPTER SIX: Fall down 7 times, Stand Up 8

So I started peeing on sticks again.

I know, I know. It’s an issue.

I sometimes don’t discuss the levels of my crazy with The Captain, just the over-view. But yesterday morning he touched my tummy and asked if there might be a baby in there yet.


How do you know?

I’ve done some tests.

Tests? Plural?

Hmmmm, like every morning for the last week including today.

But it’s only 7am now?

Yep, I got up at 4am and tested then in case it was different.

Gotta love someone who loves the type of crazy you are. He just hugs me and makes it okay.

I’m over the concern that I was losing hope. I know that I’ll be okay. Just a day away from the restart today and this saying is one of the most fitting I know.

Fall down 7 times, stand up 8

Keep on keeping on. No more peeing on sticks for a few weeks. But I’m standing back up.

B xx

CHAPTER FIVE: The Two Week Wait that Isn’t What I was Expecting


Yeppers. I’m not chiming in here with excited pics of positive tests or ridiculously cloying birth announcements (don’t think for a second those posts and pics aren’t mentally planned and perhaps Pinterested away),

There is this evil time of month for every woman trying to fall pregnant. Well, at least one of the evil times, depending on your level of desperation.

For some, I understand the arrival of a period is pretty heart-breaking, but I have been dealing with that okay. It’s a full-stop and a restart button for your cycle and I’ve been okay with that.

For me, the hardest part is the 2WW – the two week wait. It’s that gap between when you may possibly have conceived and when you can find out if you are pregnant. In previous months, this is where the crazy was at it’s peak. It’s where I was peeing madly on sticks for the entire 14 days just longingly, desperately hoping for 2 lines. And it made me feel a bit psycho seeing 1 line each time.

This month is feeling different. I don’t FEEL pregnant. I’m pretty sure I’m not actually. So this 2WW is different. I’m not waiting on a positive. I’m not waiting on a baby. I’m just waiting on that restart button. Start again. Try again.

I’m not sure if the fact I’m chilled out about this is a sign that I’m calming down or if I’m already losing hope.


B xx

Chapter I forgot. Don’t read this one.


I’m sad tonight. Sometimes I forget that I have readers. I get sad and think instinctively, “I should write about that” but then get trapped thinking there is no funny way to say something and what a shitty downer post that’d be to read.

Sometimes there just isn’t any wit. Sometimes I’m just sad or tired or hurting or sick or irrationally emotional.

And that’s okay. I need to write more even though sometimes it looks and fees like someone is listening. And like sometimes my life isn’t perfect.

You are all now my imaginary friends.

I shall call you Gumbo. Gumbo, my imaginary friend.

Talk soon,