Rowan tries to keep it quiet she has ‘a focaccia in the oven’ but with the help of a two–year–old her cover is blown...

So, I’m officially pregnant in heels. Well, pregnant in Converse All Stars and stretchy fabrics for the next seven months, I suppose. I had been trying to keep my ‘condition’ relatively quiet for the first semester, but brain–frying hormones were working against me. Meaning it literally, I put ‘Rowan has a focaccia in the oven’ as my status on Facebook. This was because I was baking a focaccia. In my oven. Within minutes, several people had called, emailed or texted to congratulate us. Durrr.

O, very sweetly, has also been finding great joy in yelling what’s going on into the faces of anyone who’ll listen. Apparently some toddlers don’t take news of an imminent sibling well, or at the very least don’t understand what it really means, but not O. Between trying to insert toys into my belly–button for the baby to play with, he’s been stealing my thunder at pretty much every opportunity I’ve had to tell people myself. For instance, when we went to his music class recently, he stood in the middle of the room banging a drum and shouting ‘Mummy’s got BABY IN TUMMY!’ Hard to keep a secret around a two–year–old.

Being honest, though, I’m glad. So far, there are several differences between this pregnancy and my last one. The first is that I am gaining weight at frightening speed and, despite being only three–and–a–bit months gone, I already have a proper round hard baby belly. My normal jeans only barely fit, so I’m in maternity clothes. They’re just so comfy. What this means, though, is that I’m pregnant enough to look dumpy, large of boob and swollen of face, but not pregnant enough for people to realise this is down to a ‘BABY IN TUMMY!’ rather than too many pies. So having a small town crier in tow to bellow out that I’m pregnant is helpful. It saves wearing a badge or writing it on my forehead or something.

Another difference in this pregnancy has been that, instead of taking a thousand pregnancy tests like I did with O, I only took one. And I was so convinced it would be negative. M was recovering from pneumonia! I thought it would take months! But no. One tiny month. I was intending on being gym–honed and lettuce–sustained before the knocking up actually occurred. Hey ho. Anyway, I took the test, then promptly forgot about it, only remembering moments before going to the supermarket and nearly dying off when I saw it was positive. Incredibly exciting. Until the tiredness and morning sickness kicked in. I suffered not a jot with this horrendous double–whammy with O so it has come as a highly unpleasant surprise. An added bonus being a toddler sitting at the breakfast table copying my cat–coughing–up–hairball noises.

Obviously, the biggest difference between this pregnancy and the last is the presence of O. It makes it even more wonderful, as I know he’ll be a fantastic big brother, but then there’s the flip side in that I can’t just lie on the sofa eating chocolates and watching Medium box–sets whenever I want to. The lack of napping is taking its toll already, let me tell you. I am far from glowing. And, as my girth increases by the day, I’m starting to seriously worry about when I’m REALLY pregnant. I’m going to be A WHALE. An actual whale. How will I pick O up? How will I squash myself into the car to drive to the museum? How will I shuffle my way to the park for a game of football?

At least there are many, many worries I had when pregnant with O that I don’t have now. I know second time round what to expect. Having a newborn is hard for the first few weeks, then a rhythm forms and everything is fine. When you don’t know that, you think you will never, ever, sleep again and that makes things so much more stressful. I also know labour hurts like a bastard. Although I’m hoping that it won’t hurt so much this time because O was the wrong way around in labour and that was baaaaaad.

For the same reason, I’m not going to pre–natal yoga this time. When pregnant with O, I bought into the whole epidural BAD, yoga and essential oils GOOD ethos which, although nice, was pretty much useless and misleading and made me feel horribly guilty when I didn’t achieve the perfect birth. Let’s just say I wasn’t striking any downward dog poses or wafting lavender oil about when 48 sleepless hours into mind–blowing pain. Obviously, I want a natural birth and will aim towards that this time as I did last time, but I’m using my yoga money for a photography course instead. As well as knowing what pregnancy and labour is like, I also know that for a year after the birth – particularly as I want to breastfeed again – you can’t be independent. So I’m going to throw my whale–like self into learning photography. Something just for me, the added bonus of which is that I can record all the fantastic, mind–blowing moments my little family has in store. I can’t wait!