...and then the sickness came

Something fishy was going on. I had the olfactory senses of Perigordian truffle hog and the appetite of a Hungarian wolf. I was spending more time in front of the fridge than in front of the computer screen. Squealing with delight at the first bars of Greensleaves from the ice cream van and sobbing at the sight of the Andrex puppy, I knew that something was seriously up. Nine pee-sticks later and it was official, I was knocked up!

A mix of emotions followed. Hurrah! I can eat what I want and wear a kaftan.
Boo! My oh-so glamorous life as a travel writer will suffer. Hurrah! I can guarantee a seat on the tube. Boo! They might just think I'm fat and ignore me. Hurrah! A new dolly to dress and play with. Boo! It may be worse behaved than the current one.

Still, no going back, it's only one little baby, what harm can it do???

...and then the sickness came. It happened overnight, or infact during the night. I was snuffling around the fridge in the early hours for a leg of something, and suddenly an overwhelming desire to throw-up came over me, and then went all over me. Oh my god, the Exorcist was on tour in South East London and living in my house. Strangely, the leg of lamb I was holding, didn't seem so appealing anymore. Crawling back to bed to groan indulgently in my pit of hormonal doom, where I wanted to stay until the sheer hell of early pregnancy had subsided.

Expect the next post in several months when this hellish existence is over...