The time of my life

Yesterday, morning sickness reached new and sickening heights. Spontaneous vomiting of the ‘just barely made it’ variety and the near impossibility of keeping anything down was the order of the day. I even managed to vomit in one of London’s finest canteens – Canteen – shortly before my dinner of poached eggs on toast came (I know, right?).

It only happened about three or four times, but I still got that wobbly-kneed, shaky, gotta-sit-down feeling after every incident. By the time I got home, I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep. It lasted about five minutes, and then I was up for half the night.

Hence I am once again stressing about work from home. I am working too, but mainly stressing about the things I could better do if I was actually sat at my desk with my notebook and my laptop and many system folders.

Monday morning seemed like a good time to break the news, so whenever someone asked me ‘How are you feeling?’ or ‘How was your weekend?’ or ‘Can I borrow your stapler?’ I’d just blurt out ‘Yeah, I’m pregnant!’ and then spend the next several minutes describing my symptoms until they backed away slowly. Everyone seemed genuinely pleased at first.

The Heads are no longer treating me like a star in the making, which is just fine with me. In that operation, if someone notices you above the radar, they take aim and shoot until you either climb higher than you’d ever planned to climb or tail spin into the ground. Trust me: I’ve been to enough corporate pep talks to know that this is true.

I’m also banking on the fact that they probably can’t fire me now I’m up the duff. Not because I plan to work less than I typically do, but because I need this excuse to go easy on myself for once. It’s important – for the baby, obviously, but also in general. I don’t want to look like a shriveled walnut before I hit 40.

Speaking of hitting a number to do with age, it’s my biiirthday on the 19th of June. I don’t understand people who don’t like birthdays. Attention, presents, dinner and special events in my honour? Yes please! I’d have a birthday every day if it were legal. I don’t think it’s illegal, mind you. Could we afford that actually?

And it will be my last birthday sans child, if everything goes according to plan, so I’m going to rip it up the way a childless woman does and go and see a live West End production of Dirty Dancing!

It might not be your cup of tea, but I saw this film when I turned eleven, and rented it on my father’s video card no less than 33 times. It was the first (and by no means last) time a film had caught my imagination with regards to love and sex, and I was hooked for life - oddly grinding greasers aside.

It was Bruce’s idea, which goes to show how much the man must care about me (I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s coming with). If I can keep the morning sickness at bay, it might just qualify as the second best birthday I’ve ever had.

And that might qualify as the second lamest thing I’ve ever said. Even the first.