Pregnancy Books I Recommend

Let’s face it – I’ve made no secret of my hatred for Emma’s Diary, and pregnancy guides of its ilk. Focusing on a fairly perfect pregnancy and presenting it as though every woman will have this experience only leads to a lot of disappointment for a lot of pregnant, hormonal women (not a pretty sight, I can assure you).

That said, there are some pregnancy books I can wholeheartedly recommend – whether I read them during pregnancy or I’ve stumbled upon them since, in the process of writing my own! Without further ado, here are the five pregnancy books I do recommend reading.

1. What To Expect When You’re Expecting. This is an American book, so some of the terminology might take a little getting used to, but let’s face it – a vagina is a vagina, wherever you are. This book is arguably the most famous of all pregnancy guides, and is revered as more of a pregnancy bible. From what I’ve seen of it, it deserves the title – it also covers what to do when things don’t quite go as planned, rather than just promising you the perfect pregnancy. Plus, it inspired the sub-title of this blog, so I can’t do a list of recommended pregnancy books without mentioning this one!

2. The Expectant Dad’s Survival Guide. As the title suggests, this book is aimed more at first-time dads – but it’s written in such an approachable, engaging way that I found myself not only compelled to read it, but also learning so much from it! I really recommend it for first time parents-to-be who aren’t too sure quite what pregnancy will entail for them.

3. Pregnancy: The Mumsnet Guide. As you’ll probably already know, on this blog, I have one rule when it comes to discussing parenting forums – Mumsnet is life, Mumsnet is love. Their pregnancy guide is no exception. Don’t go in expecting unicorns and rainbows dancing around your pert little bump – but make the most of the honesty, wit, wisdom and reassurance from other people who have been exactly where you are.

4. Hello My Name Is Pabst. If you’re planning on being non-conformist hipster-y parents, this is the baby naming guide for you. If you’re not, then this guide is perfect to tell you what names to avoid. Either way it’s hilarious, honest, blunt and informative; guaranteed to raise a smile whatever your naming preferences, and that’s why it’s made its way onto the pregnancy book list (because you’d only really buy this book during pregnancy… I’m assuming, anyway…).

5. The Speed Bump. Okay, so that’s just my blog header – the cover for the book is still a work in progress. And the book itself hasn’t been released yet. Okay, AND I wrote it. But what good is writing a book if you can’t indulge in a little self-promotion for it? Seriously, I have no idea how good this book will be, or whether anyone will find it useful – but it’s something I wish I’d had when I was dealing with my pregnancy, so hopefully my pregnant readers out there will find it useful too. Plus I’d really like to sell at least one copy. Please?

Shameless self-endorsement over, that’s my list of the pregnancy books I can recommend that you read. Of course, maybe you are having the perfect pregnancy, and so all of those sunshine-and-rainbows guides will be perfect for you – but if you know from the off that you’re not going to have the smoothest ride, these books should still be able to guide you through it.

The blog does not accept products for review or PR opportunities, so you can be sure that when you see a review, it’s something I’ve chosen to buy and review myself – and I’ll always be (brutally) honest. 

“The Speed Bump” Extract #2 – Top Ten Tips for Birth Partners

Here’s another extract from my upcoming book “The Speed Bump: What To Expect When You’re Unexpectedly Expecting”. This is a list of my top ten tips for birth partners. 

If you’re going to be a birth partner, read this. If you are pregnant, make your birth partner(s) read this. You’ll be glad you did.

1. If you are the only birth partner, take responsibility. It’s you and you alone who will be the familiar comforting presence for the woman in labour. She’s trusted you to be there for her during one of the most difficult things she’ll ever experience. Try not to screw it up.
2. If you’re one of two (or more) birth partners, and you’re not happy about it, suck it up. Your only focus right now should be on what you can do for the labouring woman, not why she asked her mum/sister/friend to be the birth partner too.
3. Fairness does NOT apply. No, father of the baby. Having her mother/sister/friend there does not make her obligated to ask your mother/sister/friend to be there too. Would you invite her family to watch your vasectomy?
4. Take snacks. Okay, you may have to sneak out into the corridor to eat them, because the sight of you munching on Haribo when she’s not allowed to eat anything is liable to make her murderous – but it’ll give you more peace of mind than you’d have, sat in the hospital canteen, wondering whether she got to 10cm dilated and pushed out the baby while you were eating what you assume is shepherd’s pie.
5. Get permission to do everything. Don’t rub her back without asking first. Don’t go out for a smoke or a toilet break without checking she’s okay with it. Once labour is in full swing, you’ll be scared to breathe without running it past her first.
6. Stay calm. If she starts to panic, you need to step in and reassure her. If you start to panic, she’ll just panic more (or kick you out of the labour room, whichever works best for her). Take deep breaths and reassure her.
7. Do your bit. Being one of two birth partners doesn’t entitle you to sit and do nothing. She’s asked for two birth partners for a reason – pull your finger out and help.
8. Don’t question, just do. If she asks you to slow dance with her, just go along with it. Yes, it does help with the contractions, actually.
9. Take everything she says with a pinch of salt. Okay, right know she does regret sleeping with you, and she doesn’t ever want to have sex with you again, and she probably does hate your stupid face right now. Don’t let it get to you, and definitely don’t retaliate. Once that baby arrives, she’ll be so glad that the two of you made that beautiful baby together, and your “stupid” face will be absolutely perfect to her, as she marvels over how the baby has your nose, your ears and your eyelashes. If you’re the birth partner but not the baby’s father, she may scream and shout at you, but once it’s over she’ll be so grateful that you were there to support her.
10. Be proud of yourself. For some reason, this never gets included in lists of tips for birth partners. You are helping a woman give birth; you’re supporting her as she brings a new life into the world. If you support her, reassure her, encourage her and congratulate her, you’re already doing a brilliant job, and should be proud of that. She may not show it straight away, but she’ll be grateful that you were there.

The reason I chose Daf and my mum as birth partners wasn’t just because I knew Daf would be encouraging and supportive, or because I knew my mum would be able to reassure me because she’s given birth before. It was also because I love them both so much, and I wanted to share that moment and that experience with them.

If someone has asked you to be their birth partner, try not to fear it, or see it as nothing more than a huge responsibility. It is a big responsibility – but it’s also a sign that they love and trust you, and want you to be a part of this huge moment in their life. Try and see it as an honour, and enjoy it – from what I’m told, it’s an amazing thing to witness.

Saturday Shopping With SB

This post begins with an appeal. If you ever see me contemplating taking SB shopping on a Saturday afternoon again, please slap me. I don’t care whether you do it virtually or physically, just slap me, and point me in the direction of this blog post.

Daf goes to a tabletop gaming society at uni on a Saturday afternoon. This week, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to take SB into town and get her a dress for my graduation. Daf dropped us off at the shopping centre and tootled off to his meeting.

I’ve had bad experiences with taking SB shopping before. In the past, I’ve made the mistake of not taking a pushchair, and just letting her walk with me on her reins. That ended in her having a screaming tantrum because, being the cruel, controlling mummy that I am, I wouldn’t let her wander off into a busy shopping centre on her own. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again, so I took her pushchair and strapped her in.

She was perfectly happy. She was content to admire herself in various mirrors as we trawled the children’s sections in clothes shops, on the hunt for the perfect dress. She charmed every single shop assistant and checkout staff member we saw – the lady in Debenhams said her smile brightened her day! – and because she was so good, I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt when we went to the toy shop and I bought her a cuddly toy Sven from ‘Frozen’.

We had lunch together – well, I say ‘together’, she ate all but a couple of bites of my ham and cheese panini, all of my slice of lemon cake, and her own Babybel and banana. Her own sandwiches were pitifully forgotten – and then, we rejoined the crowds for Saturday shopping. This was where the fun began.

The way I see it, everyone who is out in town on a Saturday afternoon falls into a certain “tribe”. I’ve written a handy spotting guide, so you can identify them too –

The Gaggle Of Teenagers: These are usually gaggles of girls, as boys tend to spend Saturday afternoon glued to Fifa or Call Of Duty. Their parents have given them a bit of cash to get them out of their hair for the afternoon, so they’ve gone into town to hit up the shops. The most common characteristics are frequent loud shrieks, walking that is frequently interrupted to take group selfies, and clothing that makes you feel old as you think “Ooh, you’ll catch your death of cold if you don’t put a jumper on!”.

The Drunken Idiots: We were lucky enough to only encounter one of these on Saturday. Unfortunately, it was a close encounter, as a tracksuit-clad plank stinking of beer staggered out of the bookies’ and almost fell into SB’s pushchair. These are best ignored if possible. A judgmental glare should be the limit of your contact with them.

The Carefree Couple: You’re in love, we get it. And you’re not yet tied down by the practicalities of parenting. But really, is it necessary to walk holding hands across a very narrow bridge? And then glare at mums with pushchairs who somehow have to get past you? Carefree Couples can be identified by copious amounts of love bites on their necks, and patronising smirks at anyone they deem not to be as loved-up as they are.

The Elderly Couple: Unlike the Carefree Couple, you don’t mind them walking along holding hands, because it gives you the warm fuzzies. Plus, they’re usually super sweet and will make way for you and your pushchair, making a fuss of your little one as you go past. Recognisable characteristics include being absolutely adorable.

The Weekend Worker: All he wants is a Greggs’ cheesy bean bake for his lunch, and all these leisurely strollers are getting in his way! Identifiable by frequent huffing and puffing, numerous attempts to get past people, a suit, and the sort of grizzly demeanour that can only come from being stuck in work on a Saturday.

The Family Day Out-ers: What better to do on a Saturday afternoon than take your five kids, their six cousins and ten of their friends shopping? To then sit down with one child for half an hour while they try on football boots, as the rest of the party cause absolute chaos in Sports Direct? Not that I’m speaking from bitter experience or anything.

The Terrified Mother: Yep, this one is me. I almost cried in Primark, as everyone was being so rude. The amount of people who stormed past SB in her pushchair, not caring if they hit her with their bags, made me feel ever-so-slightly murderous, and the sheer number of people trying to queue jump and then saying “Oh, sorry, I just thought your pushchair was in the way” was enough to make my blood boil. There would have been a lot of dead Teenage Gagglers had I not forced myself to stay in control.

It would be easy for me to declare that there is a philosophical moral to this story – that it proves we need to be less judgmental of each other, and more supportive of what every person might be going through. We need a little more patience and a little less anger, and even the busiest of Saturday shopping days will be a calmer, less stressful experience.

Philosophical morals are for people whose blood pressure hasn’t been sent through the roof on a day of what is supposed to be “retail therapy” (emphasis on the “therapy”… therapeutic IT WAS NOT). Instead, I’ve taken one lesson and one lesson only from my experience getting up close and personal with the wild animals of Saturday shopping.

Next time I need to buy a baby dress, I’m going on a weekday.

“The Speed Bump” Extract #1 – Welcome To The Blogosphere

As several people have requested it, here’s an extract from the upcoming book “The Speed Bump: What To Expect When You’re (Unexpectedly) Expecting”. 

The blog began thanks to a little publication called “Emma’s Diary”. If you’re currently pregnant, or have been in the past, you’re probably familiar with Emma’s Diary – it’s a free magazine given out to every pregnant woman in her Bounty pack (this is essentially a folder full of useless “1p off a very expensive washing powder” coupons, a teensy pot of Sudocrem, maybe something nice like a baby towel, and this Emma’s Diary magazine). It follows the forty weeks of pregnancy for a woman called Emma, who is having her first baby with her husband Nick. It all sounds very lovely, but for one tiny problem…

Emma is far too fucking perfect.

Don’t get me wrong – this magazine is great for a middle class married couple with stable jobs, who have tried for a few months to get pregnant and are now so excited about maternity leave and comparing bumps with all her pregnant friends and so on.

For an unwed student couple facing an uncertain financial future, an unplanned pregnancy, certainly no pregnant friends and no maternity leave to speak of? It’s not exactly relevant.

I flicked through Emma’s Diary when I got it, and it actually made me angry. How was I supposed to associate with Emma? How could I empathise with her excitement on seeing the little blue plus sign on the pregnancy test, or the shared joy as she and her partner told both sets of parents over a lovely meal out? Reading about someone whose biggest dilemma is what shade of yellow to paint the gender-neutral nursery is a bit of a kick in the teeth to a pregnant woman living in a tiny room with a toilet-cupboard and no room to even put a Moses basket, let alone for the baby to have a nursery of its own – not to mention the fact we wouldn’t be allowed to stay there with a baby anyway.

Where was the version of Emma’s Diary for unplanned pregnancy? Or for single mums, who don’t have their partners around to run their baths or whisk them off to Paris on a romantic babymoon (little tip – don’t bother. Emma hated it as all she could do was “munch on baguettes and olives”, seeing as posh cheese and fine wine were off the menu)? Where’s the edition for older parents, worrying because everyone they tell asks them “Aren’t you a little old to be having a baby?”, and people are all-too-eager to point out the increased risk of chromosomal disorders in older mums?

I get it. They have to appeal to the ‘average’, because the cost and logistics of writing and printing all of these different versions of the diary, and then distributing the right one to each different mum, would be a nightmare. In an ideal world, though, wouldn’t it be so much better if we had a pregnancy guide we could identify with?

I mean, I had about as much chance of a babymoon in Paree as I did of having a virgin birth (zero chance whatsoever, just in case you missed the chapter on contraception). It’s all well and good reading about relaxing baths when all you have is a shared bathroom that your housemate uses to have almost-constant noisy shower sex with his girlfriend. Besides, I don’t want to read about Emma’s mum sobbing tears of delight on hearing that her daughter is going to become a mummy herself. I want to read about Emma’s mum calling her an idiot and her dad threatening her boyfriend with a shotgun (I would like to take this opportunity to point out that this is NOT an accurate representation of how my parents reacted, otherwise I am going to get some pretty angry phone calls from my mum and dad when they read this).

That was where the blog was born. I wanted to create a more realistic vision of unplanned pregnancy, rather than the ‘one-size-fits-all’ magazine Bounty sends out. I called it “The Speed Bump”, and gave it the tagline “What to expect when you’re (unexpectedly) expecting” (and yes, I was very proud of that one). The first post made my feelings on Emma’s Diary perfectly clear…

Why doesn’t Emma talk about the gritty side of pregnancy? Forget buggering off to France but, oh no, she can’t eat soft cheese! La grande merde, she will just have to scoff olives and garlic bread instead, poor moi! I can’t even leave the house without feeling sick. The thought of eating anything that isn’t neutral coloured, salty and a little bit cardboard-y in consistency is enough to make me throw up on a bad day.

I’m craving McDonalds chicken nuggets as they include all of these qualities, with the added bonus of being so damn unhealthy. So you’ve got Emma with her lovely little cravings – what is it again, bouillabaise with veal escalopes and croutons? – And then there’s me, at the other end of the scale, nearly crying with joy when I saw that McDonalds do boxes of 20 chicken nuggets.

From “Emma’s Diary is a pile of proverbial…”, October 21^st 2013

 

In a way, I suppose I have a lot to thank Emma’s Diary for. Without it, I would never have started my blog, and I would never have had so many of the amazing experiences the blog has given me. That doesn’t mean I have to like it though. If I get handed a copy of Emma’s Diary in my next pregnancy, it’s going straight in the bin.

Right after I’ve written a scathing parody of it, of course.