Predictably, despite my excellent wedding outfit planning, in the end I went for something completely different on the day. You see my lovely East dress, made for summers of golden corn and telling the time using dandelion clocks, was not quite going to cut it on the Welsh Coast in nigh on Siberian conditions. So an alternative had to be found… Hence I plumped for my excellent eBay purchase, an Isabella Oliver dress that accentuated the bump (although I should have probably looked at this picture before wearing it, as I didn’t quite rock the wrap look to the extent required!):
This was my first wedding since knowing I was pregnant, so it was going to be different.
My usual intake of alcohol was rather curtailed by the bump – although I did allow myself a few sips of bubbly, especially as another pregnant friend who was sat with us (pregnant table basically) wasn’t being puritanical about it so I didn’t feel guilted into completely abstaining. I can’t imagine a few sips doing much harm! I also had my dessert whisked away from me, which I was quite uppity about as you can imagine, until it was replaced with other cheesecake that did not apparently have the offending raw egg (another food to be careful about – the list is endless!). But amazingly nice of the bride to consider us; much better than I did at our wedding when I forgot my best friend doesn’t eat cow and had a huge steak plunked in front of her (which luckily got exchanged for a veggie option).
The main difference was that I had suddenly become the “pregnant lady”. Having hidden the bump under normal or loose clothing, suddenly displaying the bump (and quite the bump it is after a huge dinner of delicious Welsh lamb) caused quite the stir. Virtually everyone asked me the due date and wanted to know how it was going. People are obsessed with cravings! Although I think they were hoping for a more interesting one. And I got some weird comments, like “you are doing well – it’s all going to the front rather than swelling out at the sides”. That’s good then – better not let you see me in three months’ time…
It was nice being recognised as being pregnant (some people at work are still pointedly avoiding the topic – how many pies do they think I’ve had??), but also weird. It was strange to be different, to be handled rather more with kid gloves. People assumed I would be knackered and were surprised that I wasn’t. But equally, there were new limits to contend with – dancing the ceilidh, I could only do a couple of dances at a time before the retching started (seriously, this was supposed to stop at 12 weeks, what is going on?), I needed a drink or to relinquish myself of previous drinks. So although I could join in, it had to be in bursts rather than as a continuous party fiend. I felt like I sat more of the evening out than I usually would – watching the world go by, so maybe I am tired but more physically than mentally or in the strict “in bed by eight”sense.
It’s another month to the next wedding and I imagine Leon is going to get even larger, so I am a little trepidatious about my ability to dance in high heels at that point… Perhaps I should practice in the meantime – bin the pregnancy yoga dvd (still shrink-wrapped) in favour of dance aerobics in high heels!