I went back to work last week after a fortnight off.
It was a blissful two weeks featuring a visit from my mum from interstate, lots of eating holiday food, shopping, movies and afternoon naps almost daily. My ideal life and the one I would readily subscribe to if I didn’t need to work!
I sensed a real change in my state of being pregnancy-wise this week.
I don’t know if it’s psychological because I know the consensus is that most women leave the worst of the nausea/morning sickness behind them in the second trimester, but I do feel well. Better than I have in months. Almost like my old self again.
The smell of my partner’s coffee in the evening still makes my stomach turn, but generally throughout the day, I am not feeling that constant “I could vomit at any time” sensation.
A big step of progress came just a few days ago.
My ultimate favourite thing to do in winter is consume enormous and bountiful cups of tea...English Breakfast is my poison, or Irish Breakfast if I am that way inclined. I might be tempted by an Earl Grey, a green or a chai on the odd occasion as well.
But not this winter. All because my tastebuds have been hijacked by my pregnancy. For some bizarre reason I will never understand, my most favourite hot beverage has been relegated in my mind to the same place where sardines, tripe, runny eggs, blue steaks, hot chips without sauce and offal go: the revolting pile.
I have not been able to stomach the thought of a cup of tea these past three months. It’s been terrible – and quite surreal.
Part of the old me is on one shoulder going “ooh, it’s a bit grey outside, perfect weather for a nice hot cup of tea – or seven”; but the new me is on the other saying “if you even so much as move to switch on the kettle, that bile you feel rising in your throat will quadruple in size and come up spewing, projectile style”.
But recently, it has been very grey, and cold and rainy and perfect tea weather. Add the fact that I am feeling a bit better about matters digestive and I thought, to hell with it, give it a go.
I have to say it was nice. It warmed me up and tasted ok, but funnily enough, was not overly enjoyable.
I’m sure it will return in time.
Other than that, my partner and I have been talking a lot this week about what it will be like having another baby in the house again, three years after we were up to our necks in bottles and nappies with our son.
God, it will be weird. I was holding a friend’s baby at soccer yesterday and while I was certainly being careful, I noticed I was a little bit rougher in the tickle play, only because just moments before I had been wrestling with Jay. You sort of get used to a certain level of physicality with your kids at that particular age...and it affects the way you deal with all other kids. It’s like dog people going up to a cat and patting it by way of a friendly whack on the back, just as they would with their much bigger, more robust canines at home. Meanwhile, poor pussy slinks off disdainfully to the feline chiropractor.
The other thing that will take some adjustment is looking after a little being who cannot talk for so many months. Again, with Jay, we are used to having conversations with him. Is he hungry, does he need to go to the toilet, does he want a drink of water? We don’t need to guess – he tells us.
Whatever happens, I think it will be fascinating to see how the whole “second child” thing plays out in our house, especially as while this baby will be our second, it will be my first.