Just call me 'Belle'

"Arghhhh!!!!!! It's huge!"

"Lord save us!"

"We're all gonna die! It will crush us all!"

"What that coming up the stairs? Is it a monster? Is it a MONSTER?!"

No, it was just me, going to see my midwives at the Midwifery Surgery. Apparently for almost 27 weeks (2 days to go) I am huge.

But whose fault is it I ask you? I have been eating healthily, I exercise - mostly, when I am not crippled by groin and back pain - and I drink a lot of water and not much else. So, it can't be my fault, can it?

"Well, your baby is registering extreme on most of the charts so..." I look up at my midwife expectantly but suddenly the phone is more interesting to her than the rest of the conversation. I look at the chart again. Humerus - extreme. Femur - extreme. The rest is gibberish. From my knowledge of biology, I know this means it has long arms and legs. Isn't it possible that baby just looks big because its long self is all scrunched up in there?

"No, right now there is still a lot of space for it to move around." She looks at me with pity.

Right. So, let me get this straight. Not only am I having an unplanned baby, but it turns out it will most likely be the World's Most Giant Baby EVER.

That sound you can hear is my vagina ripping in resignation.

Who am I to disagree?

I had this dream - vivid, as all pregnancy dreams are - in which my baby talked.

It was small, pink and talked. It was able to say "Mum I want some breast milk". It freaked me out even in the dream but I knew that I had to feed him. So I offered my breast expecting somehow to get bitten. I'm not sure why.

And then there was everyone else in the dream. They all wanted my baby. I spent the whole time shielding the baby from harm, trying to hide it from bad people who wanted him because he could talk.

And then I was awake, and I knew what the baby was going to be called all of a sudden. I knew its name, surely as if it had whispered it. And maybe it did whisper it.

So, who am I to disagree?

Oh God. Oh God.

I am horrified. HORRIFIED I tell you.

Disclaimer: If you are single, love shoes and have an extensive shoe collection, stop reading. Now.

You may continue reading if you don't care about shoes because I just have to tell someone.

OK, I accept that my womb will never be inside the cage of my pelvis after this. I accept that I have gained weight. I accept that my mind is no longer as sharp as it used to be and that I lose track of days (I didn't even know today was Tuesday). I accept that I am all kinds of hairy, I can smell things no one can and I keep wanting to clean until things squeak. I accept that I will never experience anything like pregnancy ever in my life.

What I cannot accept - and what I have leant to be true - is that I will NEVER be the same shoe size again! Why?! What will happen to all my lovely shoes?! Do you know how many unworn pairs of shoes I have saved up?

And the worst thing is, one is not advised to splurge until one has had all their children because one does not know what shoe size one might end up with.

My friends, these are scary times. And there are scarier times ahead. What if I end up looking like I borrowed a pair of feet from Bilbo Baggins?

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.