5 Weeks Pregnant | My Mills Baby

Yep, I’m pregnant!

I am a grand total of five weeks gone… Although, owing to the fact I have ridiculously inconsistent cycle lengths, the midwife could well decide we’re further along than that! But I won’t bore you with the biology. All that’s important at this stage is that as of April 2014 they will be a brand new My Mills Baby.

Given we’ve been working on this pregnancy for the last eight months, it’s Sod’s Law that the one month we decide to relax a little, we fall pregnant. Moreover, this is the one month I’ve had a cheeky sambuca when I’m ovulating. Sure, sperm hadn’t met egg at that stage but I did consume enough to get a starring role on Shameless.

So that’s it. For the next eight months my belly will swell to Death Star proportions. I might get one of those t-shirts that says “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant” just in case my friends club together to get me a subscription to Diet Chef for Christmas.

You see, I might be only five weeks but I’ve already had a range of symptoms. Most afternoons around 1.30pm you’ll find me with my head down the toilet, one hand holding my hair out of my face, and the other keeping Dexter at bay. He’s utterly fascinated by toilets at the moment but that’s another blog post.

I’m also struggling to sleep on my stomach, Now this could be psychological - or perhaps I’ve just reached the limit of how many pies you can get away with without morphing into Jo Brand. Either way it’s making it uncomfortable to sleep. So I’ve already gone and bought myself one of those enormous penis-shaped pillows to cuddle up to in bed.

It’s tiredness that has been the biggest giveaway though. The other day I fell asleep halfway through drafting a blog post (pen in hand). I woke up five minutes later to find my little prince nestled in my lap with one thumb in mouth, and the other twirling my uncapped pen. Thinking we were having a lovely mum & son moment, I stroked his head and told him all about the baby in mummy’s tummy.

When the doorbell rang I grudgingly got up to answer. To be honest, I needn’t have bothered as it was someone from Anglian Windows promising me they weren’t there to sell me anything, just to let me know how I could improve the energy efficiency of my home and save myself thousands. What nice guys they are!?

Having sent the 16-year-old in a suit packing, I walked past the hallway mirror and discovered Dex had drawn what I am insisting is a long and tall tree and two little bushes on my forehead - Thanks son!

So to summarise… I’m now in bed by 8pm, rolling around like an upturned turtle until 3am, up frantically writing the blog at 5am, falling asleep during core parenting hours, and waking up bang on 1.30pm with uncontrollable sickness akin to that of a 15-year-old who’s pinched one too many of daddy’s ciders.

Welcome to pregnancy!

All joking aside, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Having tried so hard to get pregnant after the disappointment of January’s miscarriage, I’m overjoyed to finally be carrying a little brother or sister (or both - I’ve already got a bet on with Craig that it’s twins) for Dexter. It was always a dream to have two-under-two and this will be our reality for a whole month when I give birth in April.

So bear with me if I’m a little forgetful over the next few weeks, and I apologise in advance for the dozens of tweets about maternity leggings, stretch marks, and fights with Craig when he rejects my name choices. Oh, and I’d avoid contacting me at all between the hours of 1.30pm and 2pm unless you want to come out in sympathy.