Boobs are always better on the other side.

Being pregnant changes things. Some of these changes are quite hard to swallow. Here are the main changes that I have found challenging and how I’ve turned them around.

Challenge 1. I can not eat.

Ads: “Babe, what would you like for dinner? I can make us Italian meat balls? Or maybe a lovely bit of fish and steamed veg with noodles?”

Me: “Urghhhh! Don’t talk about meat or tomato!” (Followed by clutching the face and uncontrollable retching into wrists.)

This sort of response is quite wounding to a chef.

It would appear that in the cheffing trade, self worth is synonymous with an ability to titillate with fine food (and then to have these dishes/suggestions embraced with gushing pleasure). To induce a state of vomiting with food suggestions is not what my Ads is used to. For some time it rendered him blankly speechless.

Positive spin: This newly acquired need to test any food suggestion against my vomit-barometer is teaching Ads to grow a very thick skin. I think he needed some skin thickening. So far he is doing very well. He has learned that the only thing he can safely offer me is marmalade on toast, plain wholemeal pasta or fruit.

Added bonuses: Our shopping bill has reduced and there is less washing up.

Challenge 2. I can not drink wine.

When I first found out I was pregnant I felt like I’d been booted out of a pumping basement party only to find myself alone on a cold, wet street. Somewhere beneath the pavement I could hear the base beat, the voices and laughter of frolicking friends, but there was no way of finding my way back in.

There was only one option.

Have a melt down.

“My life is OVER!” I cried to Ads one night. “I can’t do anything. I am totally on the outside. Pix and Roo are older and I’ve only just got my freedom back and now I can’t do anything for the absolute foreseeable future! Boo hoo hoo hoooooooo.” This was followed by making Ads promise that he would also give up living, going out, socialising and going to the pub to watch football ever again … (or at least until I could go out again).

Naively he agreed.

I then felt guilty and took back the bit about him never going to the pub and watching football. he could go to the pub. Just only drink orange juice.

Since then I have adjusted to the whole thing and stretched to Ads having a beer but NOT getting drunk.

Positive spin: Drinking herbal tea until midnight just doesn’t quite do it for me. And when everyone else is out to dinner, quaffing wine and beginning to talk shit, it makes one feel rather out of the loop. Because of this I have reduced the time that I used to spend socialising. Instead I am reading books, getting very early nights and probably adding a few years to my life that had previously been chiselled away. Hurrah!

Added bonuses: Ads gets to add years to his life too.

Challenge 3. I can not run.

Well I could run, but I’m bloody knackered all the time.

And my boobs have grown. I hate running with big boobs.

Isn’t it funny that everyone goes through stages in their life of wishing they had bigger boobs? (I speak for those smaller breasted women.) Then, when you have them it is a dreadful shock?

Such culture shocks are; you can’t lie down on the floor and read a book; you can’t run/jog and pretend to be Mila Jovovich from Resident Evil; you feel like Pam Anderson without the luxury of slow motion, so everything just feels heavy and dunk-dunk-ish at a very fast rate (and that can’t be good for you); you have t buy new bras.

I think we should begin a new saying; “THE BOOBS ARE ALWAYS BETTER ON THE OTHER SIDE.”

It could be an anti breast-surgery slogan. With a list of pros and cons for Big/Small. That way dissatisfied women would be able to ask whether their new breasts would fit into their lifestyle. It could save money. And time. And heartache.

Anyway.

I can’t run.

Positive spin: I have had to spend several of my “socialising with self whilst in bed drinking pearl tea evenings” on the internet ordering a whole new wardrobe of dresses that will grow with my “unable to run and consequential weight gain bump”. Also, I have been taking some lovely long walks and actually having time to look around and enjoy this beautiful place.

Favourite walk = the Fluffy Mountain. There are blackberries here, massive sky and the grass turns so soft at this time of year that it is like lying in the fur of a huge autumn creature. Below is Roo walking between the two gorse bushes and Ads is camouflaged behind him.

The House of Bethan

Can you see why it is called “fluffy”?

All in all, since discovering that me and Ads were pregnant, life has become more spacious and quieter. I’ve begun to enjoy the yawning gaps where I can drink jasmine tea, meditate, write.  My ideas have time to progress and grow and I’ve had a lot of space to reflect on life and the next phase of movement. It has also given me a chance to declutter, both physically and mentally. I have stopped putting things off and began to take positive action where procrastination existed before.

Take for example my long-term goal to get a creative space to work in.

Tah-dah!

This is my winter studio where I’ll be working on my coaching programmes and creative projects over the next few months – sorted out this last week!

The House of Bethan

It is very gorgeous.

A perfect space for someone who is settling into their new life as a righteous hermit.

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4 thoughts on “Boobs are always better on the other side.

  1. Beth. Reading your blogs are always followed by a wonderful day on planet earth! I completely go with your boob dilema.. I was always a ‘practically non existant but rather pert bird’ and loved it. Perfect for all the horse riding and tennis I used to do. On the night of my 50th birthday I went to sleep still being a pnebrpb and not only did I wake up to the horror that I was….50….. but I had boobs. These darn things have stayed with me and to this day I cannot understand why anyone would want to pay money to go from a comfortable 36a to a 34DD and growing!

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