Moving On Up

Pete's been so lovely since he found out I was pregnant. Attentive, considerate, always on-hand with a cup of tea or a bacon sandwich. It's like having a butler. Wish he'd stop moaning about the bow tie and tails though.

Today he came in and said, "I just want you to know that I am completely devoted to you. From now on, it is my job to do whatever you tell me to, without question."

"Oh darling," I said. "That's been your job for years. You just got a promotion."

Eat, Drink and be Wary

Lunch with Chloë. Another minefield of deception. Today was especially hard as Chloë is seven months pregnant herself.

Looking at the menu, I realised I still don't really know what I can and can't eat. This resulted in an interrogation which was probably quite unnerving.

"So Chloë, what are you having? The quiche?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why? Because you can't eat it because it's dangerous? Or just because you don't feel like it?"

"I don't fancy it, really."

"What about the smoked salmon? Are you having the smoked salmon?"

"Um, no."

"Could you have the smoked salmon though, if you wanted it?"

"No."

"Really? But it's smoked though, isn't it? Surely that's all right? I mean, suppose you really wanted the smoked salmon, and there was nothing else on the menu you fancied, it would probably be all right to have the smoked salmon, wouldn't it, all things considered? I mean it is smoked."

Etc.

Sing When You're Drinking

Met up with Kitchon, Hoser and Becky for long-planned dinner and karaoke night. I wanted so much to tell them about the baby but, For It Is Written, we've decided to wait until the results of the 12-week scan to go public.

I'll be amazed if they didn't see straight through my lie - "I can't drink, I'm on really strong painkillers for my bad back." Anyone who's met knows I'm partial to the occasional vodka & codeine.

I joined in the karaoke anyway of course. Turns out my suspicions were correct, my true vocal talent only shines through when I'm spectacularly drunk.

I'm not sure my moonwalking was up to its usual standard either.

Keeping It Realistic

We went to see the doctor today.

"I think I'm pregnant," I said.

"Have you done a test?" said the doctor.

"Yes," I said. "I've done three."

"You are pregnant," said the doctor. Seven years at university well spent.

The doctor then printed out a leaflet about midwives, which took some time as she didn't appear to have used a computer before. Pete had to help her make it work - ironic considering he can't use iTunes.

"Which hospital do you want to go to?" said the doctor.

"Not Lewisham," I replied. Call me a snob but following the experience with that wedding dress shop in Sydenham, I've learned that there IS such a thing as Too South East London.

Kings it is then. I am pleased about this because I've heard it has the best reputation for treating gunshot wounds in the UK. This is reassuring as everyone I know who's given birth says it's a bit like being blasted in the genitals with a double-bore shotgun.

She's Having a Whatnow?

Has it really been nearly three months since My Special F***ing Day? Pete and I are still floating around on a cloud of romance and togetherness, enjoying our newfound intimacy and ignoring the fact we're basically now broke.

Still, the wedding was well worth the effort. Even though it cost more money and generated more stress, arguments and sleepless nights than I could have imagined.

I now realise this was just training for the next 18 years.

Yes, it turns out I'm pregnant. I've got three plastic sticks soaked in urine to prove it.

I did the first test this morning. While waiting for the result, I tried imagining how I'd feel if it was positive. Elated, no doubt. I'd surely let out a gasp of happiness at the miracle of life as tears of joy rolled down my rosy cheeks.

I picked up the stick.

"****," I said.

I sat down and tried not to be sick.

Of course I was elated and happy and all that too. It just feels a bit odd, being pregnant, having tried really hard not to be for most of the past 15 years.

I couldn't wait to tell Pete but it was only 7am and I didn't want to wake him up too early. So I decided it would be better to wait a while.

At 7.04am I was sitting on the edge of the bed, waving the pregnancy test. Pete opened his eyes.

"I'm having a baby," I said.

"Oh," said Pete. He yawned.

Following a somewhat extensive discussion, Pete has realised this was not quite the reaction I was expecting. He says he is of course excited and overjoyed, and appreciates just how momentous an event this is.

He merely requests that if I ever have news like this to tell him again, I allow him to reach full consciousness first rather than waking him up by waving a plastic stick soaked in urine in his face.

Anyway, I've told him I'm pretty sure it's his.