hilkat

OK, so me and Rich check the traffic on the site quite regularly, and there are always quite a few hits.

In my head, that means that I have dedicated readers, desperate for an update, a new post, a new blog, who just keep coming back and looking for something….

Something, that until now, hasn’t been there.

But I am back! And I have exciting news, fashion fans.

I’m not going to beat around the bush, I’m just going to come out with it.

No messing at all.

The reason I haven’t been posting any new material lately is…

Ooohh, did you see the new copy of Vogue the other day? With Posh on the front? OK, I’m stalling.

The reason I haven’t been posting any new material lately is… I’ve been too tired. Because, errrr… I’m err…. pregnant. Cough, cough.

Yes, I have somehow (yes, yes, I do know how) joined this mob:

But my thinking is, if they can do it and still look amazing - then surely I can? How hard can it be? Granted, the last three months I have spent weeping, throwing things across the room, sleeping and retching over the sink, but how do you know I didn’t look fabulous while I did it? Ok, I looked like a sack of crap. For the last three months I have worn nothing but baggy trousers, long sleeved t-shirts and ugg boots. And that was to work. My time at home (every second of every day that I wasn’t at work) I spent draped over the sofa, moaning about my nausea and tiredness. The only thing missing was a camera rolling in the corner of the room and a limp wrist flung across my forehead - my first trimester was truly Oscar worthy.

I’m currently in week 13, which means the First Trimester AKA the Descent into Hell, is over. And I have my love of all things arty and fashion related back. I feel like someone who has been starving themselves for ages and has been presented with a veritable banquet. Shoes are chicken drumsticks and accessories are overflowing bowls of veg. And I am HUNGRY.

The best thing about being pregnant so far is the fact that I can look at The Boy and say, with a tear in my eye, “but nothing fiiiiiits, what am I supposed to weeeeaaar?” and before I know it, we are in Primark and he’s holding the credit card out to me. It the fashion equivalent of Supermarket Sweep, although I must add The Boy is neither gay nor orange. I already have a small bump, and since I am usually a size 6/8 I am outgrowing all my old clothes at a rate of knots. But its possible that three new coats in as many months was slightly excessive, particularly as none of them are overly practical. (I find I can get away with any purchases as long as I can prove they are practical. Which is why there are a few pairs of shoes hidden in secret locations….)

The absolute worst thing about being pregnant is the fact that you have to give up, like, EVERYTHING. You cant eat soft cheese (brie, stilton etc), pate, liver, soft ice cream, milkshakes, tuna (you can have minimal tuna although its advised not to as it contains mercury - surely a worrying thing for anyone, whether pregnant or not?!) and you cant drink wine, caffeine or any other alcohol. You cant smoke, jump on a trampoline or fly in an aeroplane. I, being a very sociable and lively girl, am finding the transition extremely difficult, and also find it hard to accept that I cant do all the running around and multi-tasking that I used to do without getting so tired I practically pass out. But I suppose the best thing to remember is that its only another six months (sob sob) and that at the end of it I could be Portsmouth’s answer to Kate Moss, running around looking fabulous with an amazingly stylish kiddie on her arm.

That said, things could go the other way and I could end up like Waynetta Slob or Britney. Oh dear….