Paranoia and confidence

16/08/2017 - Belly= 40inches

I had my first midwife appointment today- more like an interrogation into my life and health.
Am I on drugs? no (star sticker for me)
Do I smoke? no (can I get a well done badge now?)
Do I drink alcohol- no (not now I'm pregnant!)
Every question I could possibly imagine about past family health, they asked. How the hell do I know if anyone had TB? Did I ever have measles?- shit lady, I don't remember what I ate for lunch last week! How am I supposed to remember every childhood illness? - 100% happy I took my momma with me, she knew the answers to all these questions, I might as well have stayed at home and just sent her to the appointment.

So now I'm at the stage I am lathering every inch of myself in body butter- so when Adam comes in I am **starkers** on the bed looking like I've been attacked by the yoghurt monster- not a great look. Everyone says: you can't stop stretch marks, you're never going to look the same again- no reason to go down without a fight I say.

The paranoia may have hit me a little this week, my makeup bag is rather neglected, I'm not allowed to dye my hair while pregnant, so I have a chunk of dark roots and faded red split ends. I feel fat in all my clothes, and ok, so no excuse for this but shaving my legs is not top of my priority right now. I am barely keeping my head up. Nap time is now favourite time. So, I am not feeling too hot right now.

Adam's his usual gorgeous self, all freckled and tan from his afternoons in the sun- I'm staring at him thinking, you bastard- you did this to me, and you look great while I look shit. I've had the horrible thought hit me: He's going to leave me. After all this time, he's finally going to call it a day. I am going to be an abandoned first time mother who's been left for an upgrade to a younger thinner model with perfect highlights. I'll have to raise this child on my own- something I am wholly unprepared for. I am never going to look the same again. My entire body is finished. - to make matters so much worse, I couldn't even hold myself together like a trouper- oh no, I had a full breakdown. Adam had to spoon me - the un-highlighted, fat sloth version of me, and give me a pat on the head while I got teary and had a little sob. If that doesn't hold his sexual interest- I don't know what will right? - painful. So painful.

This is the part when 'The Dad-to be' should be saying things like: " I still think you're beautiful'' and "You're growing my child, I am never going to leave you" ... but I should just clarify Adam is not that sort of guy ok, he doesn't molly-coddle anybody, least of all me. He's my harsh reality, my kick up the backside, my knows how to sort me out better than anybody. His response to my breakdown was a prompt:
Cuddle time, and "You better pull yourself together! Jesus, I can't put up with this for the next eight months." - that's a pep talk right there. So, let's try and shake this off, get back to I'm awesome and I know it. Pregnant or not- I am not letting myself go already.