My heart is going to burst

I worry too much about this baby.

I worry that things might go wrong all the time, or that we won't be able to bond, that I will feel nothing when he arrives, or that me not being able to see his features clearly in my mind's eye means I am a bad mother.

I worry about feeding him the right things when he is of age, of using the right soaps to bathe his skin, I worry about the friends he will have and what languages he will learn. But I suppose I worry because I care.

I love this baby. I cannot wait to meet him, to see what he acts like, to find out what he wants to be called. I want to kiss his face and hold his hands and watch him recognise me for the first time or turn towards my voice.

So what if I don't have a belly button any more? They are overrated in adults anyway.

I'll be 6 months on Sunday and by the end of next week, I'll be in third trimester.

Wow.

Now where are those aunties bearing gifts eh?

All the single ladies!

Here are something to be aware of - or of which to be aware.

You know how you see all these adverts with impeccably groomed pregnant women? Or maybe you've seen Mother/Baby catalogues with glossy-haired, pouting women, sporting neat little rounded bumps and standing tall in heels? You know, the ones you just know will be you someday?

You might as well wipe that image off your mind. That will not be you.

First of all, those women are mostly not pregnant. Eh-hen, I've saved you from dashing some wrinkled up sadist with tolotolo neck about £5,000 in therapy sessions to tell you that you are beautiful. You're welcome.

Secondly, unless you have an actual high bridge to your nose - and most Africans do not - you will end up looking like you went a few rounds with Rocky. Your nose will get so big that it will be an affront to anyone glancing at your face.

Thirdly, it takes a long-ass time for your bump to look remotely rounded and nice and like a pregnancy. Until at least the middle of your pregnancy, (unless you invest in some maternity spanx and maybe not even then) you will just look fat. F.A.T.

Case in point. I went to a new hairdresser, first week of September. After grilling me in a sullen manner as to why I chose to come to her (eh, let me digress. See this crazy woman o! You're not happy that I came to your stupid salon?), I informed her that my hairdresser had moved.

"So why y'nat go to 'er then?' She said in her Jamaican accent.

"Well, I live in South East London and I'd have to go to Palmer's Green to get it done. As I'm pregnant the journey will only get harder as time goes by."

"Who pregnant? You? Ya duon look pregnant."

Meaning I just look fat? ARGH! I was depressed going home as she was the third person to make this statement of my four month old bump.

Lastly, on a curious reverse note, you will attract all the freaks and weirdos out there who have a pregnancy fetish. It may be disgusting and will make you want to peel your skin off each time they leer at you but as a silver lining, at least they know you're pregnant and not just fat. More on this later.

But who knows, I could be wrong. You could be different.

Good luck!

I couldn't resist

I saw this and thought, 'Hey, I'm more than halfway there, why don't I just buy something?'

A part of me said 'What if something happens? You'd be stuck with this forever as a horrible reminder' but I told that part of me to 'Rie nsi'. I figured a mouth full of excrement will keep it quiet for a while.

Then I stood in front of the collection and poured a mental libation to the gods: What goes up must surely come down (Ise). Because of this, I must give birth to a live baby since it has already been made (Ise). It will be healthy (Ise). It will be born when it is meant to be born (Ise). There will be no pre-eclampsia (Ise) and I will never need to see an obstetrician (Ise). As all these things will come to pass, I must be prepared (Ami).

I bought it.

Isn't it just the cutest?????

It's alive!

Well, I've always known that but Mango finally felt the baby move yesterday. It was a blessing to watch. His eyes went so wide...

"Oh my God. I felt it. I felt it!"

"Yes baby," I said, trying not to sound like it was a big deal. It was. The little thing has been moving since week 14 but it only just started kicking early this week. Mango had been getting sadder and sadder at not being able to feel anything.

"Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God...." Bless his mango-headed self.

I was touched. Especially considering that I had just been very mean to him earlier. I interrupted him watching one of his favourite shows and asked him to lug a heavy nursing chair outside.

"Come let me kiss you in compensation now."

"No, let me just do this first."

"Baby now," I was feeling guilty. "How long will it ..."

"No! I have to do this first. The sooner I get it done the sooner I can come back and relax." He walked out.

"Fine! But you will pay for that!" And he did.

"The baby is moving," I said a while later, "Come and feel it." I breathed out in short , sharp bursts causing the cushion on my tummy to bob up and down.

"Is it doing that?!" He almost gave himself an injury trying to reach me.

"No," I started laughing.

"That's not fair. That was really, really mean." He looked crushed. I felt even worse.

So I guess it's lucky that in the end he did feel it. A crushed Mango is ....well, a smoothie or a glass of juice to be honest. But you know what I mean.

I am not my hair....or am I?

Apparently I should be growing thick, luxuriant hair on my head at this stage. Having gone through the ickiness of the first trimester I have been looking forward to glossy, shiny dreadlocks which would suddenly reach my bra line.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

Why does my own journey always have to be different? I wondered.

Then today I noticed I had grown long, thick, glossy, black hair .... all over my legs! Argh! WTF?

I look like a tuber of yam. It is disgusting. I wouldn't even eat me if I were on display in a market stall. And truth be told, I can't be bothered to shave it all off or use a depilatory cream or anything, it is so tiring. Bending is agony and pulling up my legs to see them is much worse, so for now, the tubers are here to stay.

And they are joined by yam belly as my Linea Nigra - which by the way is not a straight line running down my belly like most women - is hairy. There is this one hair that I have plucked twice which keeps coming back. It feels like ogbo igwe, the metal wire wool sponge used to scour pots. I didn't pluck it neatly the last time. It broke off. Now I am being punished by having this ntutu, needle-like hair poking through the fabric of my clothes and pricking me mercilessly. As if I don't have enough troubles.

So to recap: Yam tuber legs, crooked line down my belly and ntutu, needle-like amosu (witch) hair under my belly button.

It's shaping up to be an interesting weekend. How's yours?