There's something wrong in the state of Denmark… and I think I may be it.

Tag: hormones

I have fuck all to say…

This week’s update includes the introduction of absolutely gorgeous blotchy patches all over my body – bloody hormones couldn’t even uniformly blotch giving the impression that I’m a tanned, healthy human being as opposed to the cream puff dough girl with bits of off strawberry strewn about I’m coming across as.

I am finding the strangest things sexy – and no, I don’t mean animals or paper clips – I mean people, like Bruno Mars and Sheldon Cooper. This is new. And really unfair. If you’re going to believe all the liars who have gone before me, most fathers to be are blessed and presented regularly with insatiable horndogs during the second and third trimester. I’m not saying our sex life has become a veritable desert, we’ve done okay but, because of all the pictures they put in your head, this became yet another area in which I felt I’d failed miserably. I mean, the last thing I wanted to do most days was spread these hips or muck with the pelvic area.

And yet, here I am, three weeks to go, having a hot flash every time Sheldon squints his eyes.

People are still calling me “mum” or “mommy”, which is WEIRD, people, WEIRD!!!!!!! I am not your mother and it’s creepy when you call me mummy. The only person who I allow to do this is my friend Nadia who makes it sound like a good thing…

People are still telling me to “wait” and that I’ll be “planning number two before number one’s out of diapers”… and I’m still feeling inconsolable urges to hoof them in the general genital area, walk away and never call them again.

The hole at the top of my throat, which doesn’t close at this late stage cos the kid’s pushing your stomach up so high, still spits acid out of my stomach and almost directly into my lungs every night, which is the most pleasant thing to have happened to me since I jammed that rusty nail into my left eye.

Nothing fits. No. Thing! Even my preggy gear pinches. And I refuse to buy more. This stuff is ghastly, unappealing, unflattering and expensive. I will walk into the hospital naked before I buy more of it.

But the best thing that’s happening these days is the count downs… “min dae” say some, “soon soon” say others. Either way, Hudson’s on his way soon.

I just know I’ll be better at this when he’s outside. I just know it.


Aaaand the whore moans…

Er… yip. It’s happening. Week two of the third trimester and my hormones have kicked in… but properly.

It’s not as bad as they make out on TV and in movies. I’m not roaring from one side of the hormone fence to the other in a matter of seconds. But things that didn’t make me cry before will see me bawling like a baby and I get highly irritated VERY quickly (which is the scariest part).

A girl who sits near me at work is sick again. Sniffing and snotting and snorting and sneezing and coughing… and the girl who sits near her is following suit.

Now, I don’t hear any hands being put in front of mouths during all of this and the rhythmic sniffing makes me want to jump the divider that separate us, knock her to the floor, hold her by the throat and ram Extra-Heavy Flow Tampax up her nostrils.

Naturally, the work place is no place for physical violence (and it definitely is not in my nature to assault people) but it certainly isn’t a fucking hospital either and these freaking people need to make their way home while they’re all infectious and shit.

Understand this, when I brush my teeth and get to my tongue and the gag reflex kicks in, the chances that I’ll pee a little are huge! If I catch your cough, I will be sitting in a puddle of urine… ALL. DAY. LONG.

Please fuck off home.

I’m taking great strain in bottling all of this in. If you were to ask my colleague, she would be none-the-wiser. But it’s gonna blow, Capt’n. And I fear for the safety of those around when it does.

*Deep breath*

Aside from this, my thyroid levels are on the low side of normal. Which explains the heart palpitations, low/high blood pressure feelings and complete fatigue.

Tip: Don’t shoot for babies if you have Grave’s disease.

Aside from that, the boep is now present and accounted for – as you can tell from today’s blog photo. I cannot see my feet whilst standing up nor my vadge while lying down. I can no longer easily shave my legs or trim my toenails. This last 12 weeks is going to be hairy, scary funsies.

However, I find solace in the knowledge that we are on the right side of nearing the finish line with this pregnancy and if I have to go into it with hairy legs and an unsightly patch, so be it.

Chat soon. Leave comments. No judgement here.Image