I am knackered. In fact, I am so majorly knackered that I managed to miss Vogue’s Fashion Night Out despite being ON Bond Street last Thursday. I had been about two hours early. And that’s where the problem lay. Don’t laugh. If you were carrying what feels like a watermelon between your legs – a watermelon that randomly stabs you into your intestines – you wouldn’t find the thought of killing time on Bond Street that appealing either.
I had great plans for the evening: first Mulberry, followed by Jaeger-LeCoultre, then Kat Maconie at Mistress in Covent Garden. I didn’t make any of the aforementioned. Instead, I ventured (read: waddled) down to the Little House Mayfair, sunk back into one of their plush velvety club chairs and ordered a drink. If you must know, it was a rather tame Virgin Mary, albeit so spicy that I thought I’d go into spontaneous labour.
I didn’t. I was joined by Big M and asked for a table for dinner (just realised that this sounds as if I wanted to eat a table – no such cravings, may I reassure you). Which we were given under the polite request to give it back by 9pm. People. Seriously. I am huffing and puffing with every step. I look like a pumpkin on legs. I can hardly lace up my own shoes without wanting to throw up. Do you really think I’d be keen on sitting through a three-hour meal? Of course we’d given it back by 9pm!
It’s not been the waiter’s fault though. Although pregnancy is a century old practice (we’ve been doing it for a while now, haven’t we), people are mostly unaware of how shit you can really feel once knocked up. It’s hard to imagine how much pregnancy screws with your body. And it does – especially when you are past the 30-year mark. Most of us are living in denial when it comes to acknowledging the horrors of pregnancy; and the majority of us suffer from at least partial amnesia. Thinking I’ve survived it once and hey, how bad can it really get? is borderline insane (I am including myself here). A male friend of mine calls pregnancy ‘the most selfless thing a woman can ever do’ – when all he really wants to say is ‘you guys are completely nuts.’
What can I say? I am sitting here on the sofa with my massive bump, rubbing my aching back and can’t wait for the baby to come out. I must have forgotten that initially, it will get even worse when the baby is here.
Hormones. It must be the hormones.
On a side note: Fearne Cotton’s recent statement that she wouldn’t go mumsy and wear maternity clothes (no elasticated waist bands for Fearne then) had me in fits of giggles. The words ‘in for a ride’ and ‘no clue’ spring to mind… Good luck to her!