8 Things I've Learnt As A New Mom

I have been a mom for 16 days. 16 amazing, exhausting overwhelming confusing, love-drunk days. So many people have asked me what motherhood is like, and what it is that I do all day with my ‘free time’.

Here are 8 things I have learn about being a new mom:

You have no idea what you are doing. Oh yes, I read the books, downloaded the apps, browsed the forums, joined the groups and asked fellow moms. I always knew that I wanted to breastfeed, and that I wanted a routine, but I never thought further than that until he was here. Suddenly, I had a million new questions – How often must he eat, how much does he eat, why are my boobs leaking everywhere, do I wake him to eat, why is he crying, am I a bad mother for leaving him in his cot while I brush my teeth, if I’m buying premium nappies then surely they can change themselves?!

Your time is no more. We have Carter down on a 3 hour routine – which sounds great in principle. 3 hours in between to do what I like – long walks in the park, afternoon naps and Box Office Movies. Ha! Having a baby is like running a small army. Sure, one has 3 hours between feeds, but if a feed lasts 30 minutes, a burping session lasts 15, a nappy change 5 (I’m getting faster, promise), putting him down to sleep takes 10 minutes (if that even happens) then that leaves me with 2 hours to get myself dressed and ‘presentable’, eat some food, express some milk, sterilize bottles and gear, wash a million tiny baby things and see actual human beings, then your time isn’t really yours, at all.

Babies cry quite a bit. Let it be known that my child (and long may it last) is heaven sent. He is a delightful baby who cries a regular amount. (I’m basing this on a little equation: Regular amount = not wanting to kill yourself from frustration. However, when he does cry it could be for a multitude of reasons. As I am now obviously an exert (being 16 days in and all) I have worked out the following reasons as to why your baby might be crying:

  • He is hungry
  • He is tired
  • He saw the speed of your ADSL line
  • He woke himself up and got a fright
  • He has a dirty nappy
  • He has a clean nappy and prefers the feel of a dirty nappy
  • He saw the price of nappies
  • He spat his dummy out
  • He saw you have that glass of red wine and is now laying a guilt trip on you
  • It is bath time
  • It is naked time
  • The dog farted
  • He sharted so loud that it woke him up
  • He saw his mom up close for the first time and realized she hasn’t tweezed her eyebrows since March.

They are a lot smaller than you anticipated. When Carter was born – at a sizeable 3.64 kilograms – he was still tiny. We had to rush out and buy newborn clothes for him, which he still drowns in. Note to self – always have a few tiny baby things for your newborn, they actually don’t come out ready to wear 3-6 month baby grows.

You leak milk. Everywhere. Breastfeeding is the messiest activity I have ever taken part in (and that includes the one time I vomited tequila on a friends shoes in the Billy The Bums parking lot.) I doubt there is one surface area in my house that has not been drenched in milk leaking from one of my oversized pendulous bosoms. My poor child is soaked through before he even gets close to my chest. This makes feeding in public a rather risky and messy affair. Praise the Lord the inventors of the breast ump came along before my child did.

Baby blues are a thing. Everything I read leading up to the birth of my child warned me about the ‘day 3 blues’. “Beware” they warned ominously “the 3rd day of having a baby shall be your darkest day yet”. I was terrified and put my husband on high alert (after hiding away all sharp objects in the house. Then day 3 came… with my milk…and went. As did day 4. On day 5, Mothers Day, after a lovely lunch out at a restaurant with my angelically behaved child, my hubby and I climbed in the car to go home and I burst in to tears.

“Why are you crying babe, what’s wrong”

 “I don’t know”

 “Are you feeling sick?

 “No”

 “Are you sad?”

 “Yes”

 “Why?”

 “I don’t know”

This went on for about 15 minutes while my poor husband tried in vain to gauge just what in hell was going on with me. Turns out I was sad for no apparent reason, and the more I cried the guiltier I felt, so the more I cried. Hormones are bastard things ladies, and if this ever happens to you, know that you are not alone (I know this because I Googled ‘Am I the only new mother alive sobbing uncontrollably for no apparent reason”)

I wasn’t.

You will mourn your former life. And that is OK. Everything I do now is with Breitling precision. Need to pop out to the shops? Do it between 1:15 and 1:45. (but get someone to drive you because you’ve still had major surgery and can’t drive yourself). Want a glass of wine? Make sure you’ve expressed some milk, or that you drink it with 2 hours to go before the next feed. Want to wear jeans? Haha, cute.

Having a baby means that your life gets turned upside down and hung out to dry. And that’s OK, because

You will love like you have never loved before. I battle to imagine a life BC (see what I did there?). This tiny, perfect creature has landed in our lives and turned what we thought we knew about patience, tolerance and love on its head. I battle to not stare at him for hours, or rub my hand over his tiny shoulder blades or crave my finger to be grasped in his fist. I miss him in my sleep and I cant stop kissing his tiny milk scented mouth.

I still even find his screams endearing.

Motherhood, you can stay.

I call this one ‘honest parenting’ 😉

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A Letter To My Unborn Baby

Dear Sprout

I can’t believe the day when we finally get to meet you is so close. At times this pregnancy has felt like it would never end, and at others I wonder where the time has gone. (To be fair, that’s happened once, and was a very fleeting moment. 38 weeks in gestation time is around 4 years in non-gestation time)

Just the other night as I arrived at the hospital for an impromptu checkup, I had a moment of panic when I walked in the doors. 50% of me was kind of hoping the doctor would tell me you were on your way, and the other million % of me was terrified out of my mind. Terrified. A thousand “ohmywordwhatarewedoing” moments flashed through my brain. I’m sure that’s normal though – and I know that the second you are here with me, those fears will all fade (to be replaced with “he’s crying – now what!?”)

I’ve had 38 long weeks to think about you, and imagine this wormy, wriggling yoga thing as an actual human being. There are so many things I’m dying to find out – do you have hair? (the gorgeous heartburn you’ve given me implies yes), will you be as heavy as your read on the ultrasound machine, what colour are your eyes? Will you match the name we’ve chosen for you? Just what kind of a small person will you be?

I have so many dreams and wishes for you, kid. Huge pressure considering you have yet to take your first breath.

I hope that from the moment you come out into this terrifying world you know, above anything, that you are so loved. You were planned and wanted and waited for. Nothing about you being here was accidental.

I hope you go forth into this new life with sincerity, compassion and empathy. I hope that you choose to see the good in everyone, yet aren’t naive when it comes to giving 3rd chances. The majority of this world is good, and I hope you get to experience that good without being taken advantage of.

I hope you inherit your dads Excel logic, sporting skills, directional abilities and eyelashes. I hope you get my wit and sense of humour. You come from a strong line of Kearney’s who are always talking, always thirsty for knowledge and always learning – I pray that you go about life devouring new experiences with voracity.

Travel. I sit here now, and regret always being the one to abide by the rules, never exceeding my leave allocation and always saving instead of jumping on that plane to an exotic destination. Go to places only limited by your imagination – and for gods sake – eat the damn durian! I hope the more you travel the more you realise that Africa is your home, but I can’t be so naive as to think that you will live here forever. It’s hard in this country at the moment, and it may just get harder. Don’t ever stick around for us, but if you do leave, make sure you have enough money to fly us over to wherever you find yourself, so we can visit and cramp your style like all good parents do.

I hope you learn from us, but don’t feel obliged to follow in our footsteps. Go forth and make your own destiny – don’t let anyone’s previous actions hold you back from your future. Don’t let them tell you that you cant – figure that out for yourself.

Read a ton of books, eat more than what you’re familiar with. Vegetables are delicious, truly. Smile at strangers and let people in traffic. Be bigger than you are. Give yourself to others, but don’t be a pushover. Learn to say no when it’s needed.

Try and do new and scary things as often as you can, but don’t be foolish. Follow the rules, live honestly and with integrity. Be a good person and treat everyone well.

Be generous. I’m not talking about buying flashy things, I’m talking about generosity with your time, your willingness to help those in need and to sometimes not look at the price tag. Don’t be frugal. No one likes that person who double dips the tea bag.

The most important thing my parents taught me was how to respect others, ask questions and remember my pleases and my thank-you’s. I hope I instill this in you too.

At the end of the day, my wish for you is to embrace this life you’ve been given, and know that you being here is for a reason. I hope you find that reason and use it to its fullest advantage.

This life is yours for the taking.

I cannot wait to meet you.

Mom

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9 Months… Now What?

On Sunday, this not so little baby bump will be 9 months old. Before y’all panic and wonder why I’m not sprinting shuffling towards the closest hospital, remember that one is actually pregnant for a whopping TEN months so I still have a good few weeks to go. Yep, 40 weeks gestation, just another mind fuck us preggie woman are confronted with during our baking sessions.

I always wondered why, when you asked a pregnant woman how far along they were, they answered with some eye-rolling inducing answer like “26 weeks and 4 days”. Really? why couldn’t they just say 6 months? I’ll tell you why, it’s because every day we harbour this little human in our belly feels like an achievement. I know that sounds terribly self-involved and a bit ridiculous, but it’s true. I have gone through the past 35 weeks (and 4 days) knowing exactly how far along I was – to the day – at any given time.

Pregnancy becomes this great countdown – There are the big events like the trimesters, the important ultrasound dates like the out-of-the -danger-zone-12-week-scan and the all-important ‘baby is as big as a cucumber!’ milestones.

Imagine running a marathon – you have 42.2 kilometres ahead of you – and the only way you are going to cross that finish line without dying or faking a sprained ankle is to plan the race…every step of the way. You go in well fed, pre-race pooped, fit and with the right kit. You know that to reach the 21km mark means you are half way (20 weeks!) and that every 3 kilometres there’s a water point (baby ultrasound days, yay!). Closer to the end you find a burst of energy (OK, so this never happens in pregnancy) so by the time you cross over that finish line you are still alive, albeit slightly bruised and battered. (Your vagina).

So, forgive me for celebrating this very big milestone that is Sprouts 36th week in the womb, because it’s ended up feeling like a very long 36 weeks, and as anyone who’s ever had a freshly squeezed kid will tell you – the last month sucks, a lot.

You may remember, I wrote a blissfully glowing report on things I had learnt in pregnancy. Well, friends, that was in the first 12 weeks when my skin glowed, I maintained my weight due to some delicate food aversions (read – sobbing over a fishcake) and every single thing about growing a human child was a novelty.

Fast forward several months and I am pretty much 100% over it. So, an update on things I have learnt (later on) in my pregnancy:

  1. EVERYONE will give you their advice. At first you suck in it like kitchen roll, fascinated by the stories, the anecdotes, the remedies. That shit was liquid gold. Until, it’s not, and you just want everyone to shut up and stop telling you all the things all the time. OH, you think it’s best if I get natural birth? Thanks very much. I’ve never once thought about how I’m going to get this baby from the inside to the outside.
  2. The weight gain is all cool, until it’s not cool and one day you wake up with a fatter face, fatter arms and the inability to shave your legs without seeing cellulite in your ankles.
  3. You are hot, all the time. I really didn’t battle with this until a month ago when the cooler weather set in, resulting in office heaters on full blast, and me melting in my desk chair covered in boob sweat.
  4. Your tolerance levels for pretty much anything drop to a winning low. This hasn’t necessarily been a bad thing for me, Mrs-Hate-any-sort-of-conflict, and I now find myself directly confronting issues and people I have issues with. Just the other day I sent a scathing email and didn’t even add a smiley face to the end – I mean, that’s telling ‘em right?
  5. People can and will say stupid things. Just a few pearlers from the last few weeks:
    1. “Do you have a special Doctors note that allows you to still be at work?”
    2. “Are you having natural or a Joburg special smash and grab?”
    3. Are you going to be a real woman and have natural?
    4. ‘I’ve noticed you’re gaining weight, and not just in your tummy”
    5. “Are you sure you’re not carrying twins?”
  6. You walk slow, and with a duck like waddle. I used to be one of those woman in the mall, who walked sofastallthetime and would roll my eyes in passive aggressive irritation at dawdlers and window shoppers. I am now that person causing 4 body pileups outside of Edgars, and forcing people walking with me to step backwards every few minutes so as not to leave me in their dust. Try as I may I cannot go faster than granny pace, and If I do I’m convinced my baby is going to physically fall out of me.
  7. Reflux and heartburn are the devil spawn. I constantly feel like I have food rising in my throat and wake myself up most night by vomiting pure bile in to my mouth. On good days I can’t sleep, swallow or lay my head lower than a 90 degree angle. On bad days I think about this
  8. At night your bladder turns into a vindictive little girl bitch that fills up rapidly and insists on being emptied, every half an hour, one pitiful teaspoon at a time. It’s cystitis on steroids.
  9. Nesting takes on a whole new level. Just last week I found myself walking around the house, wiping down the plants with a dishcloth and coconut oil.
  10. Every movement, pinch, jab, roll, kick and pain makes you assume that you’re in labour. THIS IS IT! you think, as the tiny ferocious child inside you smashes his head against your womb for the 18th time that hour. It’s not.

All the moans and groans and aches aside, I seriously still need some time before our little man makes an appearance. There are very important things that need to be done still, like packing his bag, packing my bag, and locating my nether regions to get them waxed.

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Baby Rankin Room Reveal

One of the most exciting things about having a baby is knowing that you get to create a space, just for them, in your home.

I have never been one for ‘themes’ and always envisioned a calm, neutral and tranquil space… which mean that the 1980 pink terracotta floors that came with the house had to go! Working in client service, I get paid in smiles (and the occasional pat on the head) so sadly the budget wasn’t there to re-floor the entire house, but we did manage to save enough to put laminate flooring down in the guest bedroom and study (turned nursery).

It made a massive difference!

Floors before

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We inherited some pre-loved furniture – a cot and compactum – which, after serious amounts of elbow grease, sanding, priming and painting look almost brand new.

Being the frugal DIY’er I am I made the mobile and my hubby applied the stickers to the walls.

I sometimes wondered if this room was ever going to come together, and even though there are still some things left to do it’s pretty much complete and I just adore it.

Walking around the room last night to take photos I said to the husband “It still feels like something is missing…” to which he replied “Yes, a baby”

So, minus 1 x baby, I present to you #BabyRankins nursery:

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A Sprout Shower

Something I have been looking forward to my entire pregnancy has been my baby shower. I really am the luckiest lass as between my mom, 3 x A type bridesmaids and a host of talented friends and family, events like this are always filled with such attention to detail! (Remember my bachelorette?) My ‘Sprout’ themed shower didn’t disappoint.

I think the pics speak for themselves.

Side note – I highly recommend getting knocked up – the pressie and spoils are outrageous!

Only my mom would painstakingly grow dozens of Sprout heads..each personalised of course!

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Dr Seuss, Roald Dahl and Beatrix Potter. What more could a literature loving mom want for her kid?

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Babies and Bostons… of course

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Instead of a card, each gift had a photo of the sender as a baby. Amy had printing issues so she decided to draw hers. I never would have imagined her looking like this as a baby… Mad skill!

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Some people on the other hand, were a lot more easy to identify. 

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Chocolate brownie stag cupcakes… I mean, really. 

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Food, glorious food!

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Guessing baby’s name… NO-ONE got it right 🙂


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Things then went back to our place where my hubby was having a nappy braai…let’s just say it got messier than a diaper after a first solids feed. 

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Things I Learnt at Antenatal Class.

One of the big pregnancy milestones is being far enough along to attend an antenatal class. (I’m lying, you can go anytime, I just feel I need to congratulate myself on 32 weeks of sobriety). We decided to join the free one that the hospital offers, because cheap.

The class took place over a full Saturday and I tell ya, the last time I was this excited for a full day Saturday anything was our wedding.

One of the highlights of the day was walking into the hospital foyer, pillow in hand, and bumping into our Gynae, Dr D. The look of panic on his face as he thought I may be coming in for an early labour was priceless, because he looked very ready to head on home – coffee and newspaper in hand.

Why a pillow you ask? I too was skeptical when the hospital asked us to bring one with. Turns out, if you can sit through 9 hours of antenatal class in the torture chamber chairs provided (even with a pillow) then you are well ready to have a baby. The nurse who took the class told us about a lady who was on bed rest, and took the entire class lying down on a bed of pillows. Having attended the class myself, I know that was all a lie, and the clever duck just had the foresight to make an ulterior plan.

Suffice to say, the chiropractors at Sandton Medi Cinic must make an absolute fortune on Saturdays at 5pm.

My favourite part of the day had to be the informative videos. For most of them, real life woman were filmed, all looking exceptionally glamorous having just popped out a baby. I also think all the men in the room are now immune to nipples and boob. The word aureole now gets tossed around as casually as you please.

For those who aren’t able to attend an antenatal class, or who want a little teaser of what’s to come, here you go:

1. Breastfeeding is best. They will literally shove images of latching babies and saucer sized nipples down your throat until you get the point. If you are considering breastfeeding, it’s very important to remember these handy, yet almost impossible to remember tips:

  • Baby’s lips must always be in a C shape, bottom lip visibly open, body aligned and latching like a starved fish.
  • Baby’s position should be like that of a football. Excellent analogy doc, as I’m sure a whopping 0.01% of the moms in the class are avid American sports fans.
  • When nipple cracks and bleeds, you are doing it wrong
  • Should baby’s mouth position not be as above, you are doing it wrong
  • If it hurts to the point where you want to stab yourself in the face with baby’s umbilical cord, then you are probably doing it wrong.

Basically, your baby needs to look like these goldfish.

2. Everything comes at a cost. From the nurse talking us all into ‘skin on skin contact’ immediately after baby is born (R700) to the ‘optional’ hearing test performed at birth (R400), not to mention the accommodation (yep, not rooms, accommodation) options – ranging from a R900 only-share-with-one-other-mom to the R2500 per night luxury suite (dinner for hubby included!) it is clear that nothing about having a baby is cheap. (Again, why we chose the free classes)

3. Possibly the most heart-breaking of all the lessons learnt was during lunch. The vegetarian option consisted of a Greek salad with feta as well as feta and tomato tartlets. HANG ON JUST ONE MINUTE, I thought feta when pregnant was the devil’s food, no more or less dangerous than swallowing a bottle of lighter fluid? My emotions were torn friends, do I eat the feta because I’m at baby school in a hospital, or do I listen to 99% of all the advice I’ve been given that’s told me otherwise?

Have the last 219.8 days of my life been a lie?

4. People are soft. And my darling husband is the most soft of them all. Apparently we were the first class to watch the illustrated video of the natural and C section births, due to complaints previously (I BET from men) about the real life videos being too graphic. I’m sorry, but do these folk think that a baby comes out in 2D picture? Nonetheless, 12 seconds into the cartoon video of a C section (think elevator music and a soft narrative) my husband goes as white as a sheet and leaves the room to go find Coke and other sugary treats. Shame – pregnancy is hard on the men.

5. As the class went on and the ‘list for hubby’s’ grew longer and longer (think tremendously intricate tasks like charging the camera, or packing socks) my poor husband began to look more and more distressed. It was at this point that I realised we would have to forego the R700 skin-on-skin option as I would need the money to pay for his stitches from when he passed out during the delivery.(Another item on list for mom’s – sit your hubby down in front of the telly and make him watch a medical documentary. If at any point he looks even close to vomiting, you may want to consider packing several Cokes for the hospital…and asking a friend to be there as a Plan B).

So, with 8 weeks to go I may feel slightly more informed, but no less panicked about what’s to come. It’s fine though, at least I know I will have my husband holding my hand throughout it all after he’s woken up from his coma.

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Pregnancy. A Pain In The Arse.

You know I’ve mentioned I’ve had an easy pregnancy right? Well, I really have. Despite the vomit inducing heartburn and occasional I-want-to-punch-your-dumb-face in mood swings, it’s been smooth sailing all the way.

Until Saturday that is.

Every few weekends, whenever we can, we take part in the Lonehill Park Run. I walk it, husband sprints Tom Cruise style and comes in 2nd place. That kinda thing. This week, as I approached half way I suddenly felt all the muscles freeze in my backside, and my legs lock into place. Terribly embarrassing, considering it was in the middle of the track and I was the cause of an almost domino effect of neon clad runners as they had to very quickly skirt and bypass me.(Quite like skirting and bypassing a beached hippo). I imagine I let out a delicate yelp and bent forward, partly due to the athlete who nearly rear ended me and the absolute excruciating pain running down my arse. It was at that point that a concerned jogger ran up to me and asked if I was in labour. “Nope, I don’t think so” I replied “I just have a very sore bum”.

A very sore bum! Oh my god. A very sore bum implies a hot curry was consumed the night before. No, this was daggers and juggernauts (I don’t know what a juggernaut is, but it sounds like it would be sore if in my glute, so work with me here).

A little while later, whilst in Baby Shitty putting together my registry, the same pain explosion occurred. You can imagine the horror on the moms faces while they tried to push past me with their laden trolleys and screaming toddlers in expensive prams. “Sorry” I kept saying, whilst laughing hysterically, because I just could not move. I was one foot under Disney, back somewhere near a bottle sterilizer and a few toes away from disposable breast pads. My friend Amy ran to fetch me the security guards plastic chair (turns out the security guard at baby City is just as friendly as all the other phlegm snorting staff) for me to sit on.

So there I was, sitting in baby City on a plastic lawn chair contemplating my slow painful death.

Later that day, at my nieces first birthday party, I lost the use of my limbs at the exact moment sweet Emma tasted her first piece of cake. Of course I was standing infront of the photographer at the time.

I won’t bore you with the details, but by the time 8pm rolled around and my husband was peeling off panties and shoes whilst trying to coax me into the bath I had lost my sense of humour along with the ability to walk in forward steps.

Turns out, what I thought was sciatica was a simple case of ‘very common in pregnancy’ Locked TIJ. I don’t know what it means, but if you look up “overweight red face woman writing in agony whilst performing movements similar to that in a game of Twister’ you would find it.

Typically, Monday rolled around and I could urinate without assistance – so it seems that I’m making baby (the pun, intended) steps in the progress department.

However, should you spot me somewhere down the line, flat faced on the floor and twitching like an electrocuted squirrel, do me a favour and help me up. Just don’t ask if I’m in labour.

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Reasons I’ve Cried During My Pregnancy

I woke up this morning and realised I haven’t blogged in a few weeks, because I had nothing to write about.

3 hours later I got stood up at a meeting that took me 2 hours to get to, I ramped a curb and damaged my car leaving said meeting, I was spoken to rudely by several people and my colleagues played a harmless prank on me. All before 1 pm. All which made me break down in a sobbing fit about 5 minutes ago.

Other reasons I’ve cried during my pregnancy?

  • Money worries. How am I going to afford everything that comes with having a baby. What do I do if my baby is sick and I am at work. Can we afford a nanny? Can we afford nappies? Can I still afford Mitchum or do I have to move to Shield?
  • My neighbours dog died. About 30 minutes ago. It happened while I was on a conference call with Ireland and he was frantically messaging the neighbourhood WhatsApp group asking for help. All I could do was Google the number of a vet and ask someone, anyone, on the other end to phone the vet. I was too late and his dog died and now I feel like I have a hole in my heart the size of Texas because I couldn’t do anything to help him.
  • I thought I had lost something that someone had loaned to me, and after frantically searching and asking for it I had to tell the person I loaned it from that I had lost it. Turns out some colleagues had hidden it from me as a harmless prank. This is now the reason I’m hiding out in an old boardroom in the office (that smells like feet) and sobbing into my keyboard. (Me, crying over a prank. I invented the prank. What.The.Actual.Fuck is going on with me)
  • I couldn’t eat fishcakes. This happened really early on (around week 8). I bought expensive Salmon fishcakes from Woolies and realised, as soon as I started cooking them, that if I ate them I would be sick. I sobbed and sobbed while I watched my husband eat all 8.
  • Someone finished the rusks. And the Marie biscuits.
  • My husband forgot to buy dog food, and after a massive brief altercation I drove to the shops in my pyjamas and bought 16 bags. I also tried to slam his hand in the door when he tried to stop me.
  • I baked. And I fucked up 20 perfectly good cupcakes that I was making for a colleagues birthday.
  • I was told I was being ‘hormonal and pregnant’. Now, this is a tricky one, because if there’s a sure way to fuel that fire, it’s to cry when someone tells you that you are being ‘overly emotional’. That being said, blame my emotional state on my pregnancy one more time, and I will stab you in the fucking face with an unused box of tampons.
  • My mattress is shit. I cry for a sturdy mattress I will never know.
  • Traffic. But who am I kidding – traffic makes me cry even when I’m not spawning a child.
  • Most TV adverts and movies featuring the following:
    • A wedding
    • A pet (extra points for dogs, triple points if the dog dies)
    • A homeless person
    • Any Tracker ad
  • The sight of my naked body in the mirror. (fun fact, the other day I was trying to view my belly button, convinced it was bruised. Dr D says it’s because my stomach muscles have split and my stomach is now just a round piece of fat holding my uterus in. Awesome)
  • People’s opinions. If I’m planning on tattooing a Swastika down my baby’s face after birth, then by all means, say something, but for everything else – unless you plan on paying for a portion of my baby’s life, your opinion is null and void.

So, on that charming note, I’m off to dry my mascara and have a cup of tea. I just hope it’s not with full cream milk, because that just may set me off again.

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Reasons People Have Kakked On Me During My Pregnancy*

  1. I walked down the ramp at the office in the rain and nearly fell.
  2. I walked down the ramp at the office in the rain and did fall. The next time it was raining my lovely colleague Lucy took my arm and helped me walk down said ramp. Then she fell. I think the bigger issue here may be the ramp itself.
  3. I stood on a revolving office chair to fix an aircon vent. My boss charged out of his meeting with a face like thunder and yelled “What the hell do you think you are doing? What if you fell and your baby died? You can’t do that when you’re 8 months pregnant”. To which I replied “Oh, I’m only 7 months pregnant. Don’t worry, if I was 8 months I would never have done this”
  4. I leaned down to find the cheesy Marmite from the office cupboard and my tea lady scolded me yelling “No Kate, stop it, we are here for you”.
  5. I opened and closed a manual garage door.
  6. I left for work in the morning without packing snacks.
  7. I grabbed a basket at the grocery store instead of a trolley. My friend Amy was with me and said “pregnancy is not the time for baskets”. 5 minutes later a 750 gram tin of fruit rolled out the trolley and landed on my foot, nearly breaking it. I think pregnancy is in fact a time for baskets.
  8. I was being emotional. You know what’s fun, non pregnant people? When you tell someone with a human growing inside of them that they are being emotional. We love that.
  9. The office desks were being re-arranged and I tried to help. After a bit of a fight they let me carry a pot plant and an empty Tupperware.
  10. I walked through the metal detector at a meeting. The other option was to pole-vault over it onto the other side. Silly me.

Funnily enough, things I haven’t been scolded for:

  1. Grocery shopping and pushing a trolley the size of a Boeing at Douglasale Pick n Pay at 6 pm on pay day.
  2. Washing the dogs. I’m pretty sure wrestling two 15 kilogram octopus (octopusses, ocotopee?) covered in butter would be easier.
  3. Dropping an earring and crawling, leopard style, under the bed to search for it.
  4. Driving in Randburg. Or Fourways, or anywhere other human beings and taxis also drive.
  5. Refilling the 21.8 kilogram office water bottle after getting tired of shouting “Guys I am dying of thirst, please can someone replace the 21.8 kilogram water bottle” (A few days later when someone noticed that it had been done, I got kakked on for doing it myself)

* The word ‘kak’ is a glorious South African’ism for ‘shit’. pronounced ‘kuk’. Ie: “You speak more Kak than Jacob Zuma”.

To be ‘Kakked on‘ implies being shouted at, and should not be confused with literally having feces dumped on ones self. If I had written a blog post about ‘Reasons I have been covered in poo during my pregnancy’, then I was probably in bad labour, or there’s something terrible wrong with the State of our Nation. (Apart from the actual State of our Nation).

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That Awkward Moment When You Find Your Urine Sample in your Handbag…

This happened about 5 minutes ago as I was rummaging through my bag for a post lunch stick of gum. Do you think I can ask my gynae for a R30 refund on my exorbitant bill?

A bill so so worth it through. As any mom or mom to be understands – ultrasounds during pregnancy are one of the most exciting things that can happen. My doctor today even jokingly asked if I knew the exact gestation date. I did. 25 weeks and 2 days. Except when sprout came up on the screen…. all ONE POINT ONE KILOGRAMS of him, his estimated age was reading at around 29 weeks. “That’s one big boy you have in there” Dr D noted. “At this rate he will just walk right out of your womb”

So, yay, baby boy is healthy and happy and oh so very large. He was also clearly terribly bored by all the attention that was on him as we captured him mid-yawn.

Bby Rankin

Side note – If anyone was planning on buying us cute newborn clothes, perhaps its best to fast track to the toddler aisle.

103 days to go!

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