This week was my first visit to Mum and Dad since I told them about the baby. I knew they would be really excited about becoming grandparents and sure enough, they didn’t stop going on about it all the time we were there. It was very strange – I got the VIP treatment all day – non-stop drinks and snacks, plumped up cushions – so not the usual service I get when I go and see them. Mum had already got some ridiculously cute baby outfits, and despite me giving her strict instructions not to go over the top, I couldn’t help going a bit gooey when I saw a really sweet pair of baby shoes she’d bought.
Back at work, I was still feeling and looking pretty grim – despite slapping on tons of tinted moisturiser to hide my 'attractive' grey-white complexion – so I had to come clean to Susan about the pregnancy (it was either that or pretend I had something dreadful wrong with me!). She was really nice about it, congratulated me and told me to check with personnel about my maternity benefits.
They also told me Nick would get two weeks paid paternity leave which is great as I was a bit worried about being totally on my own with a newborn. He could also apply to take extra paternity leave to cover me if I went back to work in the first year. (That would be great, but seeing as he earns more than me we've both decided that it makes more sense if I'm the one at home with the baby.)
After the official stuff was done and dusted, I headed off for lunch with Dani – it was really exciting to tell her at last! We had a long chat and I told her she’s going to be my official pregnancy guru as she has got two kids – Archie, who’s three and Frank who’s only 10 months. She has even volunteered to let me come round and practise changing nappies. I must be cracking up as I’m looking forward to it!
Seeing as I’d told people at work, Nick and I felt we should ring all of our mates now to let them know about the baby. It was great to go public as it makes it feel more real now that other people know, too.
That’s the good stuff for this week over with – on the minus side, my nausea is getting even worse. It’s so foul – I can’t go into our kitchen without gagging, which means either Nick trying to produce something edible (sadly he’s not exactly up there with Jamie Oliver) or it's been cereal or beans on toast for me while he gets a takeaway. My sense of smell is still wonky as well, I even had to move his new football boots out of the bedroom as the smell of rubber was making me want to throw up.
P.S. Nick has now been ciggie-free for two weeks which is brilliant. We’ve decided that we’re going to put the money he’s saved towards a trip to Paris.