I am now pregnant with number two and I don’t mind telling you that my hormones are running wild. I actually secretly enjoy my emotional outbursts sneaking up on me out of the blue. The tears can turn from joy to pain in an instant and be triggered by almost anything.
Just yesterday my partner, Rob, came home to find me shaking away on the sofa, snot bubbles emerging from my nostrils and puffy eyes that were still visible an hour later. Although Rob is more than used to my pregnant hormonal excesses, their intensity never fails to surprise him. He was immediately and understandably concerned and asked what was wrong. Unable to speak I pointed to the telly and to Kirstie and Phil who were concluding this particular episode of property purchasing drama from approximately five years ago. Rob did not fully understand, as he looked at the screen trying to find the answer I gathered some words and began to sob, ‘The chain was really complicated and their country dream fell through.’ Rob was still baffled. I tried to make myself sound slightly less upset. ‘They are in rental!’ As if this was a fully valid reason for hysteria. ‘We are in rental.’ he replied. ‘I just wanted it to work out for them. Ali has dreamt her whole life of a double garage for Rupert, a play room and an island in the kitchen, this house had it all.’ By this point Rob’s concern had been replaced by disgust, and he began to mock me. Baring in mind that one of his overly used conversation pieces is his utter dismay at the media for forcing us into being interested in looking around the houses of excessively wealthy people who we will never meet, I should have half expected the mocking that ensued.
I think he had a lot more sympathy when he found me wailing to re-runs of Gladiators on Gold during my last pregnancy. It was the travelator, the poor souls just could not find the strength and tehy would always cut to their cheering mother in the crowd, usually with an emotive placard in hand saying something along the lines of ‘GO SON GO! YOU WILL ALWAYS MAKE US PROUD!’ In my opinion that is enough to give the most hormonally balanced individual wetness to the eye and a lump in the throat, so you can imagine what it did to this chocolate eating bag of hormones.
The problem is I know it’s only going to get worse. Those early days after the birth are when those serious highs and lows are at their most extreme. Asking me if I want a cup of tea during the first five days after the birth of my son was a risky business, NOT asking me if I wanted a cup of tea was even riskier. God forbid if it came with too much milk in it, or even worse if I spilt it. It is a minefield and although, I enjoy looking back at these outbursts and occasionally enjoy having them (particularly the ones which include tears of laughter). I am a little apprehensive of the week after the birth this time around and I am sure Rob is thrilled at the prospect.
Helen performs a comedy show for mums.
‘Gas and Hot Air’ is an hour long, daytime show about pregnancy, childbirth and early motherhood. Performed by actress and mum Helen Rutter in comedy clubs and small theatres, written during breastfeeding, sleepless nights and copious amounts of weight watchers cake. Babies under one are welcomed with open arms as long as they can’t move much and don’t mind a bit of fruity language.