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Am I pregnant or do I have Alzheimer's?

I am thinking of suing Living and Loving magazine for misleading advertising. Because if I have to look at one more photo of a healthy-looking pregnant woman beaming at the camera while lovingly rubbing her bump, I am going to scream.

Instead, they should feature a wide-eyed woman with crazy “morning hair” slumped over the toilet at 5am in the morning. Or screaming at her panic-stricken husband because he ate the last pickled cucumber. Or sobbing into her pajamas because she doesn’t have any clothes that fit. THAT would be a far more accurate depiction, but no-one would ever buy the magazine. Or have children.

Now to be fair, I have had a pretty rough time of it during the last four months but I am quite sure I never went through any of this with Kayla. True, I had vague twinges of morning sickness and a few weeks when I could have fallen asleep standing up, but I seem to recall sailing through the rest of my pregnancy in a haze of baby-love, shopping for her nursery and reading every parenting book I could get my hands on.

This experience, on the other hand, has been completely different, and one I can only depict as a combination of Bulimia, Alzheimer’s and severe PMS.

Firstly, whoever first called it “Morning Sickness” (as opposed to “All Day Sickness”) should be publically flogged. I have never in my life experienced being so ill that at one point I was scared I was dying, and the next moment I was scared that I wasn’t. In fact, if Jesus Himself had walked into the bathroom during one of these five-times-a-day episodes, I would have packed my lipgloss and comfy slippers and gone along with Him without a second thought.

Ironically, despite being hunched over a toilet for most of the day, I have never been so hungry in my life. Food became both my saviour and my enemy, making me feel better for a few minutes before demanding to vacate the premises. It got so bad that I began looking at food completely differently, not so much how it would taste going down, but how it would feel coming back up a bit later.

Then there are all the “miracle cures” that all my friends promised me would work wonders. Ginger tea (absolute rubbish), ginger biscuits (taste amazing going down but burn like hell in reverse) and my personal favourite, Gaviscon (YOU try drinking liquid chalk the next time you are nauseous). When in actual fact, the only thing that vaguely worked was strawberry yoghurt – it made no difference whatsoever to the morning sickness, but made SUCH pretty patterns on the inside of the toilet bowl that I was absolutely riveted. Rather like reading tea leaves. Or finding patterns in the clouds.

Magically, at 13 weeks, the morning sickness finally left, right about the time that I lost my mind. It began innocently enough with a few “lost words” - tricky ones to remember, such as “broadband”, “bathtime” and “kettle”. Instead, I was reduced to a gibbering wreck who gesticulated madly while saying things like “thingummy” and “whatsit”.

And then it got worse when I realised to my absolute horror that I had gone through an entire day of meetings, a play date and bumping into an old boyfriend while wearing two completely different shoes. And in case you think I may have gotten away with it – one was black, and the other was silver. I think I might have cried a little.

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Possibly the most surprising of all has been the pregnancy hormones (surprising to Stephen that is, seeing as he was overseas for most of my pregnancy with Kayla and missed all the good bits!) It’s as if some internal filter has been switched off and I now say everything that I am thinking – even the bad stuff. The poor man now has a nervous twitch above his right eye and will lie awake for hours in case he snores and gets murdered in his sleep.

It really is THE most bizarre time, made even more crazy by the fact that I would do it all again in a heartbeat. Logically, I know I should be running for the hills instead of facing the momentous task of 3-hourly feeds, 75 million nappies and carrying the dreaded Nappy Bag around with me for years to come. When in actual fact, I am beaming at the camera while lovingly rubbing my bump and thinking that I have never been happier.

It can only be Alzheimer’s – there is just no other logical explanation.

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