Weighing on my mind

"We've got movement!"

Mango drops his plate and takes a flying leap over the sofa to me. "Where? Where?" I can't feel anything!"

Poor thing. Baby Opioro has been kicking me for the past couple of weeks now but Mango can't feel it yet. I think it's because I'm fat but my mother thinks it's because it is still small. Which is saying a lot because my mother, The Good Doctor, is obsessed by weight - or having healthy weight.

This is what a normal conversation with her sounds like now: "Hello? Is everything OK? I hope you are not putting on too much weight because it will be difficult later on....vegetables? fruits? You should tell your sister to try and cut down as well. You should see some of the women I treat. BMI? If it is more that 29 you are obese. Water? Protein? Weightweightweightweightweight! Ok, bye bye."

ARGH!

Right, where are those fruits?

Baby talk

Elder Sister has just told me to make sure that Mango talks to my belly all the time.

"But Mango doesn't really talk," I tell her. I am worried. What if the baby doesn't bond with its daddy?

"Well, you'll just have to make him talk some more now. Before Mandy was born, she would start kicking whenever her daddy came home from work." I think of my boisterous brother-in-law. Yes, that isn't hard to imagine.

As soon as Mango gets back, I mention it to him.

"What? But I do talk." He drops his jacket and bag on the floor of the hallway and leaps on my belly. "Hello baby, it's your daddy here."

"It's too young to hear you, you know." I squirm away from him but he pins me down.

"Don't mind your mummy, she is trying to keep us apart. We will gang up against her. And she will try to feed you disgusting mede-mede stuff to eat, like tree bark and soya milk..."

"And you had better eat it..."

"Yes or your mummy will beat you. I am bigger than she is but she beats me too." Mango is making kissing noises at my belly and muttering in an even lower voice. I think he is speaking French.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to baby."

I wish I had kept my mouth shut now. I'm not sure I like him clinging to my belly like this.

The journey so far...

...Has not been easy, I can tell you that!

But, it got better and now I am happy - with the occasional niggle here and there.

First things first, that stupid counter at the top of my blog is WRONG! We found out at my first scan that I am actually farther along than was previously thought. So as of today, I am 15 weeks and 2 days and NOT 13 weeks and 6. That is good news.

Secondly, I am not carrying triplets! Hurrah! Maman Mango didn't sound too put out though, she's just happy that the baby was healthy. Although she keeps telling me "Ah, did they check well? I am sure there is more than one. Maybe two sef. Tell them to check well oh, make sure one is not hiding somewhere."

She rang this morning about 7.30am. "Eh! My daughter, I just called to which you Happy Carnival o!"

"Eh?"

"Ah-ahn! This time last year were you not preparing with the gang to hit Notting Hill Carnival? So me I called to wish you happy carnival o. Are you going this year?"

"No, me I don't have energy o. I was meant to go for a party yesterday night. Normally by now, I would be coming back home."

"Hahaha! No more play-play for you. Siddon for house until the baby is born then you can continue your party. Can you not see how much of a funky mama I am? Don't worry, it will soon be over." I know she is mocking me because she is cackling.

But I don't care. I am in the Golden Trimester and it's all good.

UPFATE: The counter is correct now. Hurrah!

Today is a good day!!

Oh wait...have I just jinxed it?

Yesterday I threw up for the first time and had my first dry heaves - about five in total. But today, is a (relatively) blissful day. I am still ill mind but it just isn't as severe. Part of me is wishing I am further along than I actually thought and that the all-day sickness is going for good, but to be honest, I can't do anything but live moment to moment. Which is a lesson I'm learning as someone who is wont to planning every facet of her life.

Hard lesson. Valuable too, I hope.

Mango Head told his mother when she was in traffic in Lagos on her way to the market. She tried so hard not to scream in the bus but she called later. "You know, eh, whenever I remember it, I just start praying 'Father I thank you, I thank you lord, glory be to your name.' So take care of my triplets very well o! You hear?!"

TRIPLETS?!!!

Green around the gills

The morning sickness is killing me.

I'm still not sure why it's called that since mine frankly, seems to last all day, but either way, it's killing me. The worst thing is, if I delay a meal, or if my stomach is anything less than full, full? It gets a lot worse. I have to stuff my face with everything I can find.

For the past week, this has been healthy food, as per usual. Salads, grilled chicken, fruits, fruit smoothies, and wholemeal pasta. But in the last two days, I have had chips which I never usually do. And right now at 11.40pm London time, I just cooked and ate some Indomie onion flavour noodles. I feel no shame. Anything is worse than feeling this sick.

And then there's the burping. If I had a pound for every burp, I'd be able to pay for this kid's Master's degree to Cambridge. Or Harvard. Or whichever university makes it to the top of the league table in 20 odd years.

But anyway, here I am at 12 minutes past midnight, burping away and watching Season three of How I Met Your Mother, while Mango Head snores in the bedroom, oblivious to anything. To give him credit, he has been going mad trying to find the perfect anti-nausea ginger beer with the right amount of ginger and fewer bubbles. Does it even exist?

Spilt Milk

OK. 3 minutes...3 minutes....what the hell am I supposed to do with three minutes? Stare at the red of my eyelids? I’m sure people who design these things do it to punish women. Just like I will punish Mango Head if this turns out to be real. I haven’t actually thought past that point. Does this mean I can no longer do my South American tour? That sucks. Plus, I’m supposed to be in the US of A in August and this will royally screw it up. Well, it won’t really because it’ll hardly show, but one does hear stories about overzealous, Yankee airplane officials pulling heavy women off the plane if they look like they’re about to drop. And I’m already a heavy woman....Oh lord! The weight! I’m supposed to lose it all before I even contemplate anything of this magnitude. Now it will only triple and I’ll have to lose it all over again. I know I’m being totally selfish but I really don’t want to have to live in a boubou for the next nine months. I don’t want to be a stereotypical African woman who drapes the whole thing in yards of fabric; I mean, isn’t it supposed to be in itself, a shape? I see all these ‘white’ celebrities.... pseudo-celebrities some of them, like Khloe Kardashian and she’s wearing short dresses and high heels. How did she do it? How was she even that tiny when I already look like an elephant without trying? Maybe a boubou is all I deserve, like my mother, grandmother and all the women before me.

Serves me right for not getting that coil. I mean I have been talking about it with Mango Head for a while but I’ve just been too, too busy to do anything about it. Work has been murder with half the office in South Africa for the World Cup. Holding down the fort is just too time-consuming. But I really should have gone to get one long before now; after all it has been a year.

God! Now everyone at work will think I am leaving in August because of this! That is so annoying. I don’t want to be one of those women! I want to be one of the young women who leave to do something else; to travel, to have other experiences, to try it as a writer....which was the original plan before...which is the only plan. The only plan for me! The only plan. Period. But I might have to start saving soon, so I suppose spending on writers’ workshops and courses are out. They aren’t cheap. Pah! I have got to stop letting my mind run away with me, the stupid test is still running the hourglass symbol. There is no proof of anything yet. Come on, damn you! I haven’t got all day! She picked up the stick and threw it down the toilet with all her might...I have got to stop doing that. I don’t know why I am always writing this damn novel/novelette/ short story in my head instead of putting it on actual paper. Always a random string of sentences, anytime, anywhere. Why did I not just start writing the stupid book? I would have finished long before now with my typing speed. And I have tons of ideas too! But I suppose that’s not my problem, is it? I am a chicken, a coward, afraid of failing so I give up before I even try. Is that any kind of value to pass on to anyone? God, poor thing is royally screwed. I can’t make plans that work, I’m fat and afraid of failure. It just keeps getting better and better.

Maybe all isn’t lost though – if it ends up that way. There have got to be loads of women writers that are internationally successful and have gone down this same route; JK Rowling, Danielle Steele, Stephenie Meyer, Sophie Kinsella...does Sophie Kinsella have some? I always thought the Shopaholic series were the dying cries of a woman forced to renegotiate her identity. Oh I don’t know. Anyway these women all have some and they’re not doing too badly, are they? The question is, did they become successful before or after? Hmm...must look into that. Maybe I should go and get the laptop from the living room but I don’t want to get loo germs on it. Plus, I’d rather not wake Mango Head till I know for sure.

See his Mango-headed self, snoring happily. He doesn’t know if something is about to hit him. I will literally throw the stick at his head and wake him up. I mean, why should I be the only one to suffer through this anxiety? My hands are shaking. I don’t think I have ever seen my nails this colour....can someone die from excess adrenalin in the system? I must look that up on Google as well. I don’t doubt someone can commit murder from excessive adrenalin because right now I want to murder him for sleeping like a baby....ugh. Goosebumps. Mango Head says he’s never seen anyone have goosebumps on their chest before me...OW! I think I must have lain awkwardly on my nipples last night. It was so hot and I couldn’t go to sleep thinking about this morning, so I only tied a piece of ankara cloth over my body when I slept. The rough folds on my chest kept grazing my nipples. Mango Head as usual, didn’t notice me tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, but he sure will notice if he has to start pulling extra shifts! Haha! I crack me up. Actually, that’s not funny. I’d have to find a way to make extra money too. I must add that to my Google search ‘How to make money fast without winning the lottery’, just in case. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

It feels like three minutes to me now. Thank God for working in broadcasting, it just gives you a sense of timing without having to look at a clock. I really must open my eyes and face it like a grown woman. It’s only a stupid little stick after all...

SHIT.

Looks like I have to wake Mango Head.