Born Too Soon

A hospital intensive care unit is not a place you'd choose to spend time in. But if you do need expert medical care, I'm sure you'd be hard pressed to beat the City Hospital in Dubai. 

Their NICU, for tiny newborn babies needing help, is as you would expect: state of the art, modern, with amazingly supportive staff who exhibit patience, kindness and control in equal measure, just when you need them.

As our baby rushed into the world a month early, we knew she would need a bit of help. She arrived perfect in every way, but a lot tinier than your average bear. After cuddles she was whisked away to NICU to be monitored. I was wheeled off to my room.

It's a very strange sensation having a baby, then having it taken away from you. Throw in the huge amount of morphine and hormones coursing through your veins and it makes for quite the experience. I spent the next few hours in my calm, quiet private room in a daze..wondering: "did that really happen?" The agony that kicked in when the spinal block wore off told me that something definitely had happened. But did I really have a baby or had I just been hit by a truck?

DH popped down to see Baby Britney every few hours and reported back with photos and videos. They were the only proof I had that she was real, that she actually existed. I waited eagerly for them every time he disappeared and made him play the videos over and over again.

The next day I was cleared to visit her. I've never been in a NICU before, and I hope I never need to go again. As I was wheeled in past the other babies needing help, I held my breath. They were all undoubtedly in the best place, getting great care, and hopefully looking forward to a happy life after their initial stumbling blocks were overcome. But it was one of the most overwhelmingly emotional places I have ever experienced.

Although there's lots of noise - machines beeping and buzzing, it's also a very still place. Parents sit quietly next to incubators, touching tiny babies. They hang onto the medical staff's every word. I felt I had to whisper in case I disturbed anything, intruded into anyone's time with their precious, tiny babies.

Most were smaller than our girl. One, surrounded by UV light, was a 24 weeker weighing just 500 grams. He was the exact cut off weight for resuscitation. Any smaller than 500 grams and the hospital lets them slip away. This 500 gram mite looked like a tiny, helpless mouse. His skin transparent, his little arms up by his head, his eyes shielded with the tiniest eye mask I've ever seen. He took my breath away with his size, with his sheer vulnerability.
His mother stood over him. Helpless yet stoic. I tried to smile at her. I tried to look relaxed, not terrified, as I was wheeled past. I didn't want her to see my terror. That was the hardest poker face I've ever had to hold.
I felt like a fraud visiting my healthy, if tiny, baby from just steps away. The baby on the other side of us was being diagnosed with leukaemia as I held Baby Britney for the first time. 

The enormity of what we'd narrowly escaped, how poorly our tiny baby could have been, crept over me and squeezed my chest like a vice. I couldn't breathe. I could barely squeak out the words:" Get me out of here. Fast." I cried silently all the way back to my room: sadness, relief, guilt washing over me.

We were lucky. So very, very lucky.  Some parents and babies face the NICU for days, weeks and months.

14 months on, I still think about that tiny mouse baby. What happened to him? At bedtime each night when I'm cuddling my peachy-headed, healthy baby, I say a tiny prayer for him. And for all the babies born too soon. Some of us get lucky. But some don't make it. 

Footnote: If you have a baby born too soon, Bliss is the most amazing UK charity who offer support and help. I recommend them wholeheartedly.

http://www.bliss.org.uk/

What Does Having a Baby Teach You?

Guess which one I am?!

As Baby Britney approaches her first birthday (yikes!) I'm in a reflective mood.

I still can't believe that this time last year I was pregnant, with all its associated stress, pain and daily woes. I remember it like it was yesterday, but I just somehow can't believe it ever happened. It's hard to equate the rambunctious, squeaking, peachy-headed munchkin in front of me to the 8 months of pregnancy I endured.  Which is quite ridiculous really, but there you go. 

So what have I learned over the last year? What does having a baby teach you? I won't wax lyrical about the capacity for love you realise exists deep within you, blah blah blah. That's a given. Trust me on this one.

I've thought long and hard about this and decided the number one thing I've learned is...patience. 

I'm a fast moving kinda gal. I walk fast, eat fast, talk fast. Speed is integral to my being. (Have you ever sat round a table with a group of PR people? They speak like the wind. A non PR friend likened it to: "Being put through a washing machine. On spin cycle.") 

Some people see this speed, this mercurial tendency, as a negative. They assume that to move so quickly, you must be feeling pressured and stressed. Quite the contrary. I love a bit of vigour, a bit of gumption. I'm at one with the universe when I'm making things happen, organising events/people. It's my version of Zen.

Then along comes a baby. They operate to their own, crazy timetable of insanity. They wake, eat, poop, scream, EXACTLY when they want. They are marching at the beat of their own teeny, tiny, ever so slightly bonkers drum. And there's very little you can do to influence them, in the early months. As they get bigger, sure, you can get them onto a routine. But things still take forever. You can't rush through bathtime. You can try. You can cut corners. But essentially, that baby won't be rushed through the process.

When you're pacing the floor in the dead of the night, sssh-patting for the third hour, for the fourth time that evening, you may wish with every fibre of your being that you can fast-forward through the torture. But you can't. You inch forward on your hands and knees, one second, one minute, one never-ending hour at a time.

Mealtimes are another thing that just cannot be rushed. Have you ever tried to feed a 9 month old baby that isn't interested in food? It takes cunning and wile. In this house we have to allow at least 30 minutes per meal. Often more. No scoffing food, no inhaling a tin of tomatoes and some brown rice, no existing on a banana and a handful of multi vitamins (her mother's staple diet) for Baby Britney.

You have to offer finger foods, which may or may not be eaten. (May not, frequently). When these finger foods are wobbling towards the tiny tyrant's mouth, you go in, like a ninja, with a spoon of lovingly made home cooked food. When this is inevitably rejected, you offer an Ella's pouch. 

You try to spoon feed. This is resisted. Food is flung on the floor. The walls. The ceiling. The cat. You cave, and food is slurped directly from the pouch. The pouch is then rejected. You scramble around inside the fridge for another option. This goes on, in all it's comedic glory, for a period of time that feels long enough for the Beatles to consider re-forming. Throw in the fact that your kitchen now resembles a Jackson Pollock painting and it's enough to give a clean freak like me a slow lingering heart attack.

Tracy Hogg, the Baby Whisperer (say what you like, I love her book) identifies this pretty early on and actually defines SLOW as: Stop, Listen, Observe, What's Up? It really applies to tiny babies who can't easily tell you what's wrong. You know, when they try their best to tell you by screaming for three hours every night from 4-7 pm. But it definitely applies to parenthood in general.

It's going to take you longer to leave the house, get in the car, leave the car. I'll be honest, that bit hasn't bothered me so much. Like I said, I'm a natural organiser, so I'm pretty much ready to leave at a moment's notice anyway. 

The hard bit was surrendering to the  general slow down in pace. Because surrender you must. You'll drive yourself mad trying to speed them up, it just isn't going to happen. The good thing about this? Babies live very much in the moment. Unlike adults, they're not ruminating and dissecting the previous day. Worrying about the past, scared of the future. They're just living their baby lives, one crazy minute at a time. Experiencing every touch, every sensation, every taste. Finding joy in the small things. 

As I type this, Baby Britney is chewing the tail of a toy cat. She's been at it for the last 15 minutes. Every few minutes she stops, inspects the tail, looks at me, and smiles a toothless smile of contentment. I'm telling you, babies have a lot to teach us. Slow down, and you'll hear them more clearly.

Keeping Up Appearances When Pregnant - in 45 Degrees

Great inspiration, even when not up the duff.
LOVE TESS.

I strode into pregnancy determined to keep a grip on all things beauty and fashion related. 

"I am not letting myself go!" I exclaimed loudly to anyone who would listen (mainly Molly the Cat). 

I attempted to take inspiration from this gorgeous blogger in Dubai, who puts a non pregnant woman to shame, and this previosly pregnant blogger in San Francisco. Her wardrobe is to die for.

There were times when I looked less than fabulous..to be fair after after emergency surgery and two weeks on bed rest, my looks were not my number one priority - but my vanity did win out, and I tried to keep some semblance of normality on things.

Here are my top three beauty tips for surviving pregnancy in the Dubai summer:

Nails

The girls at Feel Pink are regular visitors to our villa. I dialled them up every few weeks when pregnant and they dutifully arrived, laden with kit. 

This means no faffing about in the car travelling to the mall or a salon in 45 degree heat, no trying not to smudge your nails on the way out, a simple call and they're at your sofa. A classic mani/pedi is a snip at 150 dirhams,  done and dusted in 45 minutes, and they do a fantastic job. Extra points for their giddiness about impending baby Britney, which reached fever pitch. And now they get to see the lady herself every time they visit - it's really very sweet.

The only small issue is manoeuvring an eye-rolling husband out of the lounge when they arrive. Not as easy as it sounds if he is mid-way through watching a spaghetti western (don't ask!).

Hair

There is only so much you can do when it's 45 degrees and 90% humidity, but I wasn't about to take hair Vietnam lying down. I discovered this stuff a few years ago when working on a beauty project. In this region women are all over hair oil - thick Middle Eastern hair needs taming. Women religiously apply this overnight and wash out in the morning.

But it is, as you can imagine, messy. So the clever boffins at P&G came up with this as an alternative. It looks just like a normal conditioner, feels just like a normal conditioner, but it isn't. You're supposed to take handful of it and leave it in over night - I just use it after washing and rinse it straight out. 

I don't look quite like Cat Deeley after using it, but it does tame my hideously huge humid helmet to manageable sleek (ish) proportions.

Tan

If your waistline (and backside) is going to expand, it might as well look bronzed, in my opinion. Hence a weekly spray tan became as essential as breathing - which has always been my stance when it comes to tanning, more so when lumbering around like a whale in a bikini.

Getting to and from the salon without sweating it off became more challenging as summer progressed, so I did an at home job. L'Oreal is my favourite - minimal smell and air dries really quickly. Obviously I go for medium/dark not light- what's the point otherwise?

Screamerama Drama

Even this photo makes me tense....

We've all been there: a small baby starts crying somewhere...maybe the mall, maybe a restaurant, maybe (worst of all) a PLANE. And I freely admit, I have been the person that glared. 

It's loud, isn't it, when a baby cries? And annoying, yes? Goes right through you, doesn't it?

Well let me tell you (all parents will know this already) when it's your own baby IT IS TEN TIMES WORSE. 

Apparently your own crying baby makes women secrete a stress hormone, which is why men can remain calm in the face of a mewling infant, but women start sweating and have to comfort them. Pronto.

Added to this, if it's your own baby you are likely to be stuck in a confined space with them when the screaming is in full flow (taxis and elevators are the worst) and then it seems even louder.

AND factor in the stress of (what feels like) the whole world staring at you and judging you, and it is fair to say that I dread screamerama with every fibre of my being.

It's amazing what can set her off; I've learned at some cost never to sneeze or cough loudly in her presence. My poor Dad removed his glasses which for some reason terrified her - he never did that again after the hysterics took an hour to abate.

Now when I see or hear a baby crying I'm torn between wanting to hug the mother and relief that it isn't mine. Their crying barely even registers on my radar now.

Oh, how I regret the glaring of my childless days now.

Baby Essentials - Number 3 - The Swaddle Me Wrap

Easy peasy and genius!

If you'd been tucked up in a cosy, warm, very tight bed for 8 months or more, you might protest at being dragged kicking and screaming from it without warning. This is what happens to babies when they're born. And it's even more of a shock to them if they're born prematurely, like Baby Britney (BB).

They also have a very strong 'startle' reflex which means that their little arms twitch without warning, giving them a huge shock. If this happens as they are drfting off to snoozeville it wakes them up and you can forget any type of sleep.

So to make them feel cozy and snuggly, and to stop them startling like crazed ferrets, you swaddle them. Now there are all sorts of rules about the how and why to do this - their little hips can get stuck apparently. Personally I feel that unless The Hulk is swaddling your baby, you are on pretty safe grounds.

We did this from day one, using swaddling blankets. It was the only thing that soothed BB, but there was one major problem - she could fight her way out of any blanket, and did so frequently.

Then we discovered the Swaddle Me pod. It is basically a teeny tiny baby straightjacket - it allows you to wrap the tiny tyrant up AND velcro them up. Get out of THAT Houdini!!

The one caveat is that they have to be a minimum weight - 3.2 kilos- which meant that the tiddler BB couldn't go in it for a few months. Once she could, it was a DREAM. 

They're here in Dubai at Babyshop, or order them online from Amazon. Honestly, it will change your life.

Baby Essentials - Number 2 - The White Noise App

Your life pre-baby may involve peace, quiet, and music. Ah, music. 

Babies, however, are not much interested in music. What they like are monotonous sounds...the vacuum cleaner, the washing machine, the hairdryer. As it isn't massively practical to carry any of these things round with you, I heartily recommend you invest in a white noise app. 

This amazing thing CHANGED OUR LIFE. It was 69p from the App Store - I am not exaggerating when I say I would have spent thousands on it. It has a good selection of sounds to choose from - we compromised on the 'Conch Shell' - a lovely sound of breaking waves, as I couldn't stand the hairdryer - it also has a timer that you can switch on for the first hour of baby going down in their cot. Once they are asleep it switches off. 

And get this: it then 'listens' to your baby. If they rouse, IT SWITCHES BACK ON.

There are no words to describe the genius of this. 

We only discovered this when Baby Britney (BB) was about 6 weeks old. I so wish we'd known sooner. It has helped to crack the non-napping in the daytime and she is so used to the routine of it after bath time that her eyes literally close as soon as it is switched on. 

Of course, this idea is not new - my mum's friend said she had a cassette tape of white noise that she used to play to her boys - but at least now we have the amazing technology to make it so much easier and portable.

I now watch the ipad like a hawk - our worst nightmare would be if the battery died!

Things I Missed When Up the Duff

If you enjoy it, you probably can't do it...sigh.

My pregnancy was classed as very high-risk. Not because of my age,although I was practically dead by Middle Eastern child-bearing standards, but due to a few health issues. 

Anyway, as a result, I missed some of the usual things that up the duff ladies miss, plus some that they don't: 

• Booze
• A night without getting up to wee every 30 seconds
• Running
• Walking or standing for longer than 20 mins (doctor's orders: I COULD physically walk for longer,but paid the price afterwards)
• Exercise of any sort (even pregnancy yoga was banned)
• Swimming (see above)
• Plane travel
• Lying on my front when sunbathing
• Lying on my front when attempting to sleep
• My Whistles skinny jeans (although was still in them at 20 weeks, mofos!)
• The spa (for the first 12 weeks)
• My sanity (to be fair whether this was in place before is up for debate)

It's not forever, although it feels like it. Repeat: it's not forever.

Remember Me?!

Hello!

I'm back!

Yes, me!

Huge apologies for the radio silence. I've been a teeny tiny bit busy, what with, y'know, growing a human being, bringing that human being into the world, then dealing with the Vietnam style fall-out of trying to keep them alive for the last 18 weeks.

The good news is that they are alive, as am I. Older, fatter and more haggard, but nothing that a large box of wine and a full face of botox can't sort out. In fact, forget the Bounty bag they give you as they leave hospital, ever new mother should have a crate of Sauv Blanc and a surgeon with a hypodermic waiting in the wings.

Anyway. 

I know you're full of questions: What's it like having a baby? What's it like being a mum? What's it like (braces self) GIVING BIRTH? 

Well, pull up a seat, relax, and if you're in Dubai, pop on your Ugg boots and hoodie (is there any need for this Winter's freezing temperatures?!) and I will tell all. I warn you, it ain't all pretty and there's no earth mother in sight.

Pregnancy Reading Material

As a voracious reader and someone with a thirst for knowing as much as possible about anything unknown, it will probably come as no surprise that I have been reading A LOT during this pregnancy. As one friend pointed out: "If Britney hasn't read the book, it's probably because that book hasn't been printed yet."

You could go wild in the book aisles (and I did) but here is a small selection of my favourites:

The Baby Diaries - Tess Daly

I LOVE Tess. This isn't a manual so much as a lovely memoir of pregnancy, birth and beyond. As someone who comes across as refreshingly normal, this felt a bit like having a chat with a friend rather than a preachy 'you must do la la la' book. Good fashion tips too.

Up the Duff - Kaz Cooke

This is HILARIOUS!! A week by week guide that has literally had me guffawing. It's possibly the only that one that i could persuade the husband to read (no luck yet). I cannot recommend this enough. Note: It was previously called 'The Rough Guide to Pregnancy and Birth."

The Baby Whisperer - Tracy Hogg

I know the next two books divide people, but I am all over learning anything that might help, in any small way. I'm a complete novice. A friend said she tore two pages out of this, stuck them on the fridge, threw the rest of the book away. Guess what's on my fridge?!

The Contended Little Baby Book - Gina Ford

As above. I've enjoyed this book. Whether any of it is actually realistic or not, I shall have to find out.

Pregnant in 48 Degree Heat: What to Wear at the Weekend?

This is a slightly easier challenge. Skinny jeans become less attractive in the heat of the Summer, pregnant or not, so I would usually switch over to dresses. And I am a woman who owns A LOT of dresses.

I was been lucky enough to still fit into some of my bodycon Whistles numbers at 6 months (god bless lyrca) and lots of my beautiful silk shift dressses and batwing kaftan numbers were just born for pregnant women to wear.

Obviously it's always good to update your wardrobe, especially when you are starting to feel like a cow. Couple of my best weekend purchases below...

Stripes
This nautical number is ACE. Fab with converse and equally good with pumps or flip flops. I would have worn this even when not pregnant, which is a good yardstick, in my opinion.



Bodycon
This dress might look a bit dullsville but it's amazing on. I wear it with nude heels (when not much walking is required) for dinner and drinks, it also works well with flip flops and casual lunches. Very fitted, very comfy. 

This Too Shall Pass....

There are some pregnancy symptoms which, quite frankly, you could do without. I shan't list them here as my husband reads this blog, and he really doesn't need to know about some of them. (I'm a 'bathroom with the door closed' and 'no flatulence in front of the other half' kind of girl.)

Thankfully, I'm lucky that two very good friends of mine back in the UK (hello J and S!) are pregnant at the same time as me. One is due 4 weeks before, one 5 days after me. What are the chances?!

We soon became dab hands at exhanging emails and messages, usually titled 'What Fresh Hell is This?!'. This meant that when, on waking, and realising something was amiss/something had moved/something didn't feel quite right, I had two fantastic sources to check in with. And when you're half way round the world and know very few people with children, this is an absolute godsend.

And when I was in the depths of some dodgy symptom or other, tired or in pain, I clung to the fact that whatever it was, it usually passed. And a few days later it would. Hang in there ladies.....

Blazers Still Fit!

Gwen: Always an inspiration

Newsflash!!!! (Mainly of interest to pregnant women) BLAZERS STLL FIT!!! To be fair I haven't had to expand my wardrobe too much, but it's quite clear that a large proportion of items are no longer feasible. Which makes a walk round the mall a) dull and b) disheartening. Minimal interest in shops when I can't fit into anything. 

This weekend, a revelation:  blazers still fit! I love a blazer. Big fan of wearing one over dresses for work, or skinnies and a t-shirt at the weekend. So to discover that these still fit, AND with the right cut they can actually nip you in a bit and give you a good shape was a joyous moment. I snaffled one up in bright yellow - well, anything to distract from my tired face, hey! It has most definitely perked me up no end.

Mine was from Zara, but they are everywhere, ladies. Enjoy!

New Habits: Troughing

Me, at pretty much any time of day.

I never really had a sweet tooth. Sure, I'd scoff Creme Eggs at Easter and I do love anything from the lovely Mr Kipling. But I'm a cheese or crisps kinda gal at heart. Add in the fact that I do like to eat as healthily as possible, and I'm just not a big indulger in all things sweet as they tend to gravitate to my middle and thighs.

That all changed when I became Up The Duff (UTD). I fought it, I really did. But I've found myself leaning towards sugary treats like Kim Kardashian after a hunger strike. 

Things I find myself eating most on a regular basis that I SWEAR never normally touch my lips:

• Pain au Chocolat
• Cinammon Whirls
• Creme Eggs (to be fair, a usual occurrence, especially round Easter)
• Ice-cream (nightly)

The Husband watches with a wry smile as I scoff the above items - he isn't used to seeing me with my snout in the fridge quite so much, and certainly not emerging with anything unhealthy.

I reasoned with myself: on a normal evening I might have a couple of glasses of wine, on a night out, a bottle. Which meant I had HUNDREDS of spare calories to consume, non? And I kept repeating the mantra: pregnant women only need and extra 2-300 calories a day, so I did exercise some restraint. And at 24 weeks, with no one any the wiser that I was pregnant, it seemed to work...but a lot can happen in the final few months. As I hurtle towards 33 weeks, watch this space.

Pregnant in 48 Degree Heat: What to Wear to Work?

It is not easy dressing in a Dubai summer at the best of times. Throw in being pregnant, add the fact that hardly any stores here stock maternity clothes (wake up Gap/Top Shop/H&M etc etc) and you have a real problem. 

I've been lucky that I could stretch my pre-maternity wardrobe until around six months, at which point something had to give. Yes, I could pull my trousers up , but this is not much use if you can't sit down in them.

My work wardrobe saviour was asos.com - they deliver to Dubai! Stylish, reasonably priced clothes for work and weekend. And I also had a lovely girlfried who visited and brought some of my purchases with her. I say some. I took up at least 50% of her baggage alloowance. Now that's a true friend.

Here are my some purchases that got me through the hot days when I needed to look professional and a bikini just wouldn't cut it:

Swing Dresses

This one is a lovely stretchy crepe with dinky gathered cuffs. Great with a blazer, huge necklace and ballet pumps. I have it in black.



This is also great for work - a bit more casual with cute pockets at the front. Again, in black. I do usually love wearing colour and am not a fan of black. But black seemed to work better for me in this case - I had the fear of looking like a giant walking piece of fruit in any other colour.



Long Skirt

I'm not really a floaty kind of skirt girl, but this black number was elegant, can be worn with ballet pumps or converse depending on the day, and dressed up with a blazer if necessary. And my LORD it is comfy.



Lounge Pants

These are really best worn with converse and a denim jacket, but with a good blouse and pumps, they did for work too. They were like pulling on molten silk and I suspect will be worn long after the baby is born.

Mothercare: Just Say No

Me, on exit

This week I faced my own personal Vietnam of pregnancy: I went to Mothercare.

Have you ever been in Mothercare? If so, and you have managed to emerge without weeping, clawing for air and despairing of the human race, you are a stronger woman than me. Here are the main reasons that I will be avoiding Mothercare like the plague FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

1) The Shop Assistants
Let's be clear, Dubai customer service is poor at the best of times. Expect to approach most stores (esepcially beauty or clothing) armed with far, far more knowledge than the shop assistants. How I yearn for New York, where the women on the Estee Lauder counter can analyse your skin at 20 paces, and make skincare and make-up recommendations with one eye closed.

The staff at Mothercare take incompetence to a whole new level. Bear in mind that I am far from a typically maternal fawning woman, whose knowledge of baby equipment hovers around the low to zero level. And yet I still knew more about car seats than the indept twerp who attempted to serve me. I rest my case.

2) There's SO MUCH stuff
The Mothercare in Dubai Mall must cover the size of four football pitches if not more. To be fair, if this floorplan was full of clothes, shoes, cosmetics or capybaras, I'd be more interested. But the vastness of it overwhelmed me. Who buys this stuff? And why?

3) The Clothes Are Offensive
I should have known better than to stray into the maternity clothes section. What I found there rendered me speechless. Hideous outfits that my grandmother would baulk at and refuse to wear (she isn't nicknamed Joan Collins for nothing!).

4) It is FULL of Other People's Children
I know this is a tad ironic given that I'll soon have one of my own, but the children in Mothercare seem to be a special breed. An out of control, screaming, raging, mayhem causing breed. I swear my ear drums are still whimpering.

Never mind all the advice about what to eat/what not to eat/what to do with a baby/what not to do with a baby: mothers of the world, please share the most important advice of all: ENTER MOTHERCARE AT YOUR PERIL.

Pregnancy Glow

Heidi has it. Bxxxh!

We've all heard about it. Thousands of pregnant women are no doubt trying to find it: that elusive glow that everyone raves about.

I definitely started to look better after about week twenty. My hair and nails - which always grow super fast in Dubai - were even longer, the aching exhaustion passed, and I felt good. Most of the time I forgot I was pregnant.

And then the heat kicked in.

Dubai in Summer is testing for the best of us, never mind being six or months pregnant. But here's the thing: if you time your car to office walk just right, that slight mist of dewy humidity on your cheeks can (almost) make you look like you've found the Holy Grail of pregnancy glow.

Sadly, if your timing is off, you look like something that the cat coughed up: wet, slimy and to be avoided.

I enjoyed the gamble.

And on the days when I lost I thanked the lord for MAC face powder and this stuff.

The Kindness of Strangers

I am blessed with truly lovely real-life friends who have been an absolute tower of strength throughout my pregnancy.

And I have also encountered overwhelming kindness and support from people who I have either: never met in my life, met very infrequently, or not caught up with in years. Truly incredible.

There was the lady I met on a Dubai forum, who had the same challenges as me, but was pregnant with twins after 4 rounds of IVF. Safe to say I take my hat off to her for how she's handling things. We met online, and graduated to daily emails with updates and support. We shared medical information, hospital advice (crucial) and cheered one another on through dark times and happy times. Our emails literally got me through the day on more than one occasion.

Then there was the lady on a UK forum who also was in the same medical situation, who emailed me before and after emergency surgery, and who even set up an online group where about 15 of us checked in and chatted (virtually) about what we were going through. And what we were going through really wasn't easy. They are an amazing bunch. Again, I have never met any of these lovely ladies.

And then there were the amazingly thoughtful messages and emails from blogger friends and ex-work colleagues that I hadn't spoken to in YEARS. Truly incredible.

Living away from home, going through a high-risk pregnancy, it's hard not to feel isolated. The kindness shown to me by strangers and those far away, the support, advice and joy they gave me, has been immense. Words really can't express how much they have meant. Thank you all.

How to Not Look Half Dead when Pregnant

See! Lovely!

There's heaps of tips on how to distract from the fact that you are getting fat as a pig when pregnant. As a fan of oversized everything (sunglasses, jewellery, handbags) I already have a lot of these in my armour, and am rocking them on a regular basis to even out my growing tum. 

But by far one of the simplest tricks I found was good old fashioned lipstick. My secret weapon? Chanel Rouge Coco, in shade Mademoiselle. It's the perfect shade of pink: attention grabbing enough that people notice it, not so bright you look like an explosion in a Girls Aloud factory.

I can't take the credit for this find, a few years ago in the fair city of Manchesterford I Single White Femaled it from my friend Emma. Turned out she'd SWF'd it from our good friend Vikki (Von Straussbag). 

Whatevs. 

However we discovered this, the end result is the same. I've found that a simple sweep of this joyous tube really distracts people and has actually led to hugely positive comments. And as I've discovered, a pregnant woman will seek out a compliment like a pig searching for truffles. Enjoy.

What's in a Name?

It's a big responsibility, naming a child. Now cats, cats I can name. But there's a world of difference between a whimsical, slightly comical name (Frank, Benjamin etc) and a name that a human being has to live with not just as a baby and toddler, but fully functioning adult.

Obviously I am approaching this like any normal person: I have an excel spreadsheet split into: Boys/Girls (obv), and then 'English/Arabic'. It seemed only right that a child born in the country that we've grown to love and call home, should have a name which reflects this.

When I told my lovely Iraqi/American friend of this plan, she was quick to point out a potential pitfall. 

"Britney!" she mused. 
"Bear in mind you'll have a British baby. 
Born in the United Arab Emirates. 
With an Arabic name. 
You are just asking for trouble at immigration desks around the world!" 

She made a good point. 

As it is, the husband and I can't agree on anything, male or female.So the poor child may be nameless for some time. Rumours that Burj Khalifa/Fazza/Twiglet are front runners are completely unsubstantiated!

It will be a nice surprise for you, dear readers!

Hunger Games

How dare someone photograph me at breakfast!

You do hear stories about women eating for England whilst pregnant (hello Jessica Simpson!) and there is no doubt that I've been troughing more than usual. I'm aware of what I'm eating, and especially aware that as on an exercise ban from the consultant, I don't have my usual option of running off any extra calories each night.

I've operated three main modes when it comes to food during this pregnancy:

Zero interest (sick as dog)
Self-explanatory really. Whilst I was luckier than most in that I was never actually sick, I did feel grim and hungover until about 12 weeks. Thankfully this was almost predictable to the minute (11 am -1 pm each day) so I could pre-plan. My handbag was never without breakfast bars and dried fruit boxes for the first 12 weeks.

Don't Stand Still, I Might Eat YOU!
I've been hungry before, of course. But until pregnant I had never experienced hunger so bad that it gnawed at my insides and rendered me absolutely incapable of doing ANYTHING other than eat. To the point where I would be reduced to tears and/or violence if anything stood between me and a meal. Again, this was mainly for the first 12 weeks (husband drew huge sigh of relief when we passed this milestone).

"Honestly, I'm Not Hungry." UNTIL Food is in Front of Me.
Towards the end of the second trimester I was really relaxed about food. The sickness had long gone. I wasn't ravenous. I was relaxed. Or so I thought. 

I've now discovered that once a plate of food is in front of me, whether at home, or in a restaurant, I chow down with the ferocity and enthusiasm of someone setting a Guinness World Record for Speed Eating. It ain't pretty, let me tell you. I could clear a plate in the time it takes for others to pick up their cutlery and re-arrange their napkin. Which I can just about get away with at home, but which is NOT a good look in a restaurant. What to do? I'm powerless.