Pregnancy, a rant

People keep telling me that being pregnant is a miracle, or a privilege, or a beautiful experience. Personally I think it’s a bloody nuisance, and because I’m awake with heartburn I’m going to rant about it on here.

Obvious stuff first: size. I’m 26 weeks today and I already look like a bowling ball with a girl shoved through the middle. How much bloody bigger am I going to get? None of my clothes fit any more - I’m reduced to shapeless grey baggy shirts and stretchy tracksuit bottoms from Primark. My knickers don’t fit, my bras don’t fucking fit. I can’t afford to buy a sackful of maternity bras so I’ve just bought one which I wear constantly until it starts to attract wildlife, then I boil wash it and don’t leave my room until it’s dry.

When I get up from lying down I look like a turtle which is trying to roll itself over, all arms and legs flapping and grunting. This happens a lot because I have get up to go for a wee every 6 minutes. My anatomy textbooks tell me the baby shouldn’t be significantly constricting my bladder yet, but the baby clearly hasn’t read the fucking book. Lazy little shit.

I crave cheese, chocolate, ham sandwiches - actually that’s nothing to do with pregnancy. But now I eat twice as much as before (best bit of being pregnant), and fart 12 times as much. How is this possible? Sometimes I fart so much I have to leave my room for fear of suffocating, which would probably be bad for the baby. I mean, you’re not allowed to smoke, right? When the fart haze starts to look like a pub before the smoking ban, it’s probably time to leave.

I’m also not allowed to drink. I’m a medical student. All we do is drink. I’ve had to go to student dinners, sober. Sit though student plays, sober. Attend post exam parties - fucking sober. Have you ever been around a group of your close friends while they’re drinking and you’re not? Because let me tell you, they all turn into drunken cunts, and the next one who slurs that I’m so lucky to be creating the miracle of life is going to get tripped over and sat on until weight of the miracle of life crushes an apology out of him.

My hormones have gone crazy. I’ve had to buy a hitachi wand because otherwise the price of buying batteries for my vibrator was going to bankrupt me. Literally every man I meet, or even see, I will fantasise about having sex with. Walking around university between lectures with hundreds of male students, the inside of my brain is like some kind of frantic sex party, recorded and played back in fast motion. When I sit down in a lecture theatre I have to group the guys together and imagine them fucking me in threes and fours, otherwise I’ll never get through them all before the lecture starts. It’s stressful.

Studying alone in my room, I masturbate the way other people have fag breaks. I’ll have an orgasm, go for a wee, come out the bathroom and think ‘fuck it, might as well have one more before I get back to the books’. Thank god for the hitachi wand. Fingers were fine when I used to do it a couple of times a week. If I used my fingers now I’d have fucking RSI by the end of the first day.

This also affects my ability to communicate sensibly with guys. Yesterday a nice looking fellow student sat one seat away from me in the lecture theatre. ‘Hi,’ he says. We’ve chatted before - I like him. My mind plays through the compulsory fantasy of ripping his clothes off. ‘Do you mind if I save this seat for my girlfriend,’ he asks - pointing to the one between us. Girlfriend - grrrr! I wonder whether, if his girlfriend met with a freak stabbing accident, he would turn to me for comfort. Preferably the sort of comfort which involves taking me roughly from behind. ‘Err,’ he says, ‘are you ok?’ I realise I’ve been staring at him with my mouth hanging open ever since he arrived, without saying a word. ‘Umm yeah fine, baby brain’ I gabble, and try to laugh it off but this just makes me fart. When his girlfriend arrives he moves to a different seat. This kind of thing happens a lot.

Then there’s the heartburn, the cramps - OMG the leg camps - like you’re being woken in the night by somebody chainsawing off your leg. Thank god I mostly avoided morning sickness, but some smells still make me feel sick.

I know I know it’s a blessing really and I’m just having fun with a bit of a rant. But honestly this little fucker had better be seriously grateful when he or she comes out, otherwise I’m giving it to the damn charity shop. (Sign outside says ‘all donations welcome’, so I’m not expecting any backchat.)