Throwing the baby out with the bath water?

So it's been a while since my last blog. And by a while I mean a while! Why? Well my life has taken a few dramatic and unexpected turns over the past few months. Some exciting, some harrowing and some just downright scary. One of which being the awesome news that I am with child.

Awesome news now, I hasten to add. However, it wasn't too awesome when I first found out. That sounds like a terrible thing to admit doesn't it? But I am not ashamed to say that I was less than enthused when I first found out this rather life changing event. The reason? I had only been with my bloke since last November. Which leads me onto the subject of my next blogpost. Getting pregnant so quickly into a relationship and the pitfalls that surround such a scenario.......

My reaction upon finding out that I was pregnant ranged from shock, to denial, to downright terror. It wasn't that I didn't want a baby. I'm 28 this year. While I'm not exactly what you would call an old maid, I'm not getting any younger either. It was more that I wasn't sure I was ready to have a baby with my boyfriend. I wasn't totally sure I was ready to have a boyfriend.

The bloke and I met through work. I say work. He was my boss and I was on the payroll. However we remained good friends solely until the day I went off to work for someone else. Thus how our relatively new relationship only really started in November. Once I had gotten over my reluctance at entering a new relationship (or any relationship for that matter) and chilled the fuck out, the couple of months that followed were fun, frivilous and enjoyable. Romantic nights away to the Isle of Arran, a New Year spent supping Champagne and finding out more about each other, more romantic nights away in Edinburgh and even meeting the fam at a posh family event. Things were good. We were having fun. He was an unexpected boyfriend choice for me which only made him all the more refreshing. And we got on like a house on fire. Probably down to our shared love of Gin, cigarettes, music and talking about everything and nothing until the early hours of the morning. And he is probably the most caring, loveliest and genuinely good person I have ever been with. For the first time I was with someone who genuinely and quite altruistically, only wants the best for me. Even at the sake of his own happiness. And this is a new thing for me. He also regularly buys me little gifts and flowers. And lets me watch the soaps without moaning. The only thing I haven't quite got him to do is make me toast at 5am when I wake up feeling starving, but don't worry. Plenty of time.

But then the worst that could happen happened. After a couple of weeks of feeling sick and trying to ignore the weird metallic taste in my mouth, I bought a test. And I never expected the result to be what it was. He'll tell you I knew. That he knew I knew. That I knew he knew that I knew. That I was in denial. But I swear, when I did that test my heart of hearts believed that it would be negative. So at 2am one Sunday morning my boyfriend of only 2 months and I found out that we were going to be parents. And I did was any other responsible, sensible expectant mother would do. I sunk half a bottle of wine and smoked 5 cigarettes in quick succession. Not too clever I know. But I was dealing with the shock. Before you start picketing my house, I have been off the tabs ever since.

The period between finding out in January and really accepting that I was pregnant and getting excited has been a long and arduous one. However, no matter how much I sometimes wished I hadn't gotten pregnant (and I admit I did) and berating myself for being so foolish, abortion was never an option. Never. I knew that deep down I was just going to have to suck it up, get over it and start buying baby grows. But in that period my life quite literally flashed before my eyes. And the sheer horror at the prospect of having a baby with someone who, lets face it, I still hardly knew, filled me with utter terror. How could I raise a child with someone who I didn't even know I would still want to be with in 6 months time? Don't get me wrong, I love my boyfriend and want things to work for not only our sake but for the sake of our unborn child. But we were still in the honeymoon period. There was still so much we needed to know about each other. Instead of planning steamy weekends away and spending all our extra cash on expensive romantic dinners, we were now looking at life insurance and working out how to budget nappies and babyfood into our expenditure. And I admit I got scared. And all I could think was how this man was the wrong man for me. The freedom and security of always being able to walk away whenever I wanted to had been snatched away from me. And the prospect that we HAD to make it work convinced that we could NEVER make it work. Crazy rationale huh? But my hormones were all over the place. So I freaked out. And in a way I ruined the past couple of months of my pregnancy worrying and creating problems that just weren't there.

And now? After some serious time out and time to reflect, the bloke and I are getting on great. I love him and can't wait till we become parents. I'm 5 months gone, the bump is getting bigger and the fatter I get, the more excited I get by the day. I was so busy convincing myself there were problems in the relationship that I couldn't see what was right in front of me. And while he is busy doing up the flat, I am flicking through baby magazines. I am content. I fully intend to enjoy the rest of this pregnancy. To enjoy the social life we still have left together before it comes to an abrupt end. To get excited together picking out baby names and looking at prams. Because it will all be over before I know it and I'll be kicking myself if I wasted it worrying about a break-up that might never even happen.

And I'm keeping this positive attitude with me. Upon picking up a recent copy of Closer magazine and flicking to the story about Kelly Brook and Thom Evans expecting a baby (they also started seeing each other in November), rather than remarking on my initial response, that I would give them 6 months, I bit my lip. Because you know what?

They might just work.