Tag Archives: Pregnant

Double bumpin’

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From the creators of this irresistible cuteness:

Banjo & Aika holding handsand this:

Iphone 483

Comes a new lovable production of double trouble.

See in production sneak peak pictures here first:

CSC_0233Megumi: 26 weeks pregnant and me, 28 weeks

CSC_0232

Grandchildren come into this family in two’s. Megumi and I are sisters by marriage. We married 2 brothers. We had our first babies within 4 months of each other and now we return to the preggie state again, together, with just a mere 2 weeks apart.

Our pregnancies are both healthy and yet different. Megumi is a typical preggie who endured nauseating morning sickness for the first trimester, she gets back ache, uncomfortable Braxton Hicks and then there’s me, who with a bit guilt says this – gets none of it. There are days when I have been envious of her Braxton Hicks… I mean, what do they really feel like? And moments that I wished I could just take a days worth of morning sickness to ease the burden even if just momentarily for her.

In Japan, Megumi’s home country, a woman is expected to only gain up to 5 kg’s during her entire pregnancy. I know, I know… crazzzzzy hey? Megumi at times wishes she could keep to that strict norm. I, on the other hand eat 5 kg’s of chocolate a night and replicate a motto a little like get fat and get beautiful during pregnancy. I’m not always a good influence.

It’s special bringing new additions into a family together. We regularly check in with one another. Talk symptoms, birth, parenting conundrums. We became Mothers together. We empathise together. We learn together.

Little Vick and his cousin learn together too. They have a special bond. They’re so close, in age and in heart and now they will face the challenges of welcoming a new sibling together. Siblings who I hope will be bonded just as the first pair are in time to come.

So now, we are taking bets about who will have their baby first! Little Vick put his feet up and stayed put (he arrived 2 weeks late after being induced) and Megumi who had a BIG baby first time round may need to be brought on early…so who knows who’ll get to meet their babe first :) We often joke we could be in the birthing suite together. Yes, that would be a bit freaky.

Here is our latest & probably final preggie bump shot together:

37 & 35 week bumps

So who’s your money on?

Today I am linking up with Essentially Jess via the #IBOT linky party :)

 

 

 

Knocked Up Wrap Up: Hasta La Vista 2nd Trimester!

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How knocked up: 26 weeks (27 tomorrow) and living the final days of the 2nd trimester!

A Knocked Up Thought: Thought? Do I still have those? Unless it’s habit then I don’t remember to do it or take it or buy it. Brain has been in tact until about now but preggie brain is catching like a well developed disease with no likely cure. Symptoms include leaving bags behind in public places, purchasing everything bar the intended item at the supermarket, leaving behind my toddler… just joshin’ about that last one ;) That’s post baby.

I also have become acutely aware that I am about to farewell the 2nd trimester and we all know what that means. 3rd and final stage. The waddling, wee leaking, cant tie my shoe laces, about to drop my v-jayjay stage and actually I don’t fear it. I don’t even fear the labour but I kinda fear that spaced out, exhausted post baby state which is inevitable. The reality of a new baby and a new baby + toddler. Worse things have happened to woman I know but I just get the personal challenges which will come about from that time. The inability to hold a proper conversation aside from nodding my head vaguely, the loss of personal hygiene, the lack of productivity and the frustration of that, the isolation. Getting the picture? I know so many of you know. Really know. I get that it will be a lovely, unifying time for my family as well but still the dark side is on my mind. One thing that I find reassuring is something that Mr Vicks aunt told me when we were trying to decide whether to have another babe or not. She said God only sends babies that a family can cope and manage with. I’ve always been fond of that little one liner so I’m holding it close.

Knocked Up Feeling: Heat + an additional 10kg heifer lump to carry around is yes, definitely as fun as you’d be thinking. Combined with a late night and I become the over-heated, cranky cow. A delight really. I am only capable of watching The Bachelor on the couch at such times and cannot be blamed.

Knocked Up Physical Bits: Oh hello thrush, so pleased you decided to come back and haunt this pregnancy too. I was thinking how super great I am at this encore knocked up session avoiding the itchy and scratchy show and then I flee for a weekend away where extra sweets were consumed and you invade my vjay-jay and I’m all unhappy and want to scratch my lady bits clean off once again. You are the bain of my life! But this time I win. Nothing is more scary for thrush than little live bugs in the form of a tablet otherwise known as pro-biotics. Why I did not do some reading on this first time round I have not the foggiest but I’m happy to be kickin’ it now with my little bug pills. I am never just relying on some foot fungus cream ever again. The pills are here to stay, no more itchy and scratchy show from this day.

If the thrush wasn’t sexy enough the varicose veins are surely a good look but something I DO love that’s apart of the physical changes is an outie! Yes, I feared a no show with Little Vick only to get one on the home run at 38 weeks and here I am proudly sporting a nice little beauty at 26 weeks! Now that I am happy about!

The Knocked Up Foodie: I’m good at eating. Happy to eat everything because everything tastes pretty shit hot. Still perturbed that I haven’t been a crazy, demanding preggie who requires obscure foods at less than convenient times. Instead Mr Vick has confessed to and has surely proven that he is having my cravings for me. This is a re-occuring symptom evident in the first pregnancy too. Some reverse psychology for sure. Food is doing a very quick disappearing act from the pantry after my grocery shopping efforts and he actually said to me last night can you please have a craving for KFC soon? Please….

The Babe: Biff, bam, wriggle, wriggle, bumpety bump, bump, squirm, wriggle, wriggle…..zzzzzzz……….zzzzz……. Biff, bam, wriggle, wriggle, bumpety bump, bump, squirm, wriggle, wriggle….. that’s what I know of this babe.

Favourite Knocked Up Moment: Little Vick is still convinced on the idea he is having a sister but on occasion he will entertain the idea of having a brother. He has decided that if he does he will look something like this:

I’m not too certain if he is referring to the boy or chicken. I’m thinking the chicken is probably more likely.

Knocked Up Belly Shot: 26 weeks

and yes, this is totally what I look like most days around the house ;)

Wordless Wednesday: A Little Comparison

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Have you seen my baby fatness?? Word has it around town I am HHHHUGE!

Seriously. Enough of the twins jokes. Hilarious for you. Not so for me. My belly likes to hang out so it’s good at this pregnancy gig. One might think I was built for it even.

I’m 23 weeks knocked up. Peoples faces look surprised when I say that. One stranger recently asked how I was going with my last few weeks. Seriously?

I decided to take a little comparison test and whilst I spent 30 minutes of fumbling to get this unsatisfying selfie which isn’t on the right angle, has depressive lighting and which really isn’t a great comparison, you will see for yourself how my belly might be poking out a little more.

                    Pregnancy # 1                                         Pregnancy #2 (NOW)

Do I even have boobs this time? I think they’ve been scared off and note the difference in hair styles? You can tell which one was my first pregnancy when I had time to groom … yeah, that old thing.

I can tell you one thing. There’s a whole lot of vagina sitting in the second picture. Can you see that? Baby Vick is sitting a little closer to the exit unlike Little Vick did. And… I really don’t know what else to say after that point.

Happy Wednesday!

V xx

The Knocked Up Files: So Long 1st Trimester!

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So, here’s the post I’ve been owing for a week or two. The pregnancy post. The knocked up files. The first trimester wrap up. Yep, here we are.

Little Vick was a BIG whoopsy baby for sure, but baby # 2 (yet to decide on it’s blogging title) was the opposite so already it’s been a very different Mummy-to-be experience. Instead of having a spinning head saying holy feckin’ moley, is that possible? What the fruit loops is about to happen to my life now? it was more like: *pat on the back* nice one, the job is done. Let’s get back on with things. Don’t get me wrong, we were/are very pleased but there has been a whole lot less mind blowing going on about it. It’s been much more chillaxed this time round and I certainly don’t think that is a bad thing.

Can I just say this whole planning a baby thing is a little over rated. I was a pee-on-a-stick-aholic! It seriously drove me bat shite crazy! I kid you not, I took 5 tests before I even missed my period! I know, I know… that’s an expensive hobby isn’t it? I become some obsessive pregnant wanna be but I was fairly certain I was indeed knocked up and I was just wanting confirmation of my self diagnosed state. That did come when I managed to hold off until my period was late. 1 day at least. I took a test and still only sore one line appear (negative). Perplexed, I was about to discard test no. 6 only for a 2nd, faint, pink line to catch my eye in the nick of time. At that moment I was relieved to find I was not having hypochondriac tendencies or to be suffering some phantom pregnancy in my head. I knew, I knew.

So why was I so certain about my knocked up state? I always say a woman knows her body. I know mine. She’s always been good to me. Never given me too much trouble so I know when something is different and yes, when you’re knocked up there’s certainly something different. Whilst with Little Vick I was having too much unsuspecting fun to really notice a lot of the early stages changes (kill-me sore boobs was the eventual giveaway), I was on it this time round, like a hard core Bond like spy. I was looking for any little sign and researching anything slightly suss. The first giveaway was this… a week after conception I just burst into tears. No particular reason but I felt very emotional over something minuscule (can’t even recall what). At that point I told Mr Vick, I’m pregnant for sure. He laughed. 2nd giveaway was the two weeks after conception when my hormones would have been really topsy turvy, Little Vick was the most trickiest little monkey he’s ever managed to be. He was, as my Mother would say, putting a real song and dance on. Most uncharacteristic for the usual cool as a cucumber Little Vick. I said to Mr Vick, he knows. It’s that weird 6th sense thing that kids seems to have….and cats. Mr Vick considered this. The third and final symptom which occurred preciously 8 days post coital was I suffered from unexplained cramping for 48 hours in what would be the middle of my cycle. This is not the norm for me. My suss radar was on high alert. I googled it (what else would I do?) and discovered this could be the zygote nesting into my uterus which normally occurs about day 8. Well, well… how about that? I told Mr Vick, I knew I was pregnant. He swore. He agreed, I must be pregnant.

He swore, ya see, cos it only took one shot. Even I was a little surprised. Once? Really? Again? I better be careful. I am clearly a walking fertility machine which when I think about all the people who try desperately and can’t fall pregnant I am completely grateful. I am also grateful that I am not an Irish Catholic, that the contraceptive pill is in existence and vasectomy’s have been invented.

So I’m knocked up. Let the hormone games begin! Although for the most part physically I have the chuck Gods on my side. I don’t get morning sickness. Zilch. Diddly-squat. Not in either pregnancies. I obviously gave my bout of it to poor Kate Middleton. I didn’t even get sore boobs this time. I have been waiting for them, but I got nothin’. I figure I was only breastfeeding 6 months ago so they’re clearly still broken in and ready to roll. My only complaint has been the fatigue. Oh the big weary. The weary which has induced Nanna like tendencies and a murderous temper. Mr Vick is lucky to have survived the first trimester alive. My tolerance and reasonability levels have been nada. I’ve been a real spoil sport I won’t lie. But I’m becoming a nicer person the further I get away from that first trimester which we’re all happy about here in this household.

To my surprise, I have also had days where I have just woken up feeling nothing but blue. This isn’t my usual style so I feel uncomfortable in such a state. I’ve had some days of moping about unable to really successfully do anything. Now as a do-er this inability only makes me be hard and awful to myself which becomes just one big mind f*%k. Karma for not getting morning sickness do you think?

And how about all this fatness?!?!?! Seriously. I look at least 23 weeks pregnant. I am a little embarrassed, although I have been reassured by those who have been here before that it’s all very norm for a second pregnancy to show earlier. I was so noticeably pregnant however at 8 weeks my sister & sister in law guessed! Blimey! My fat tops obviously wern’t up to scratch! I was begging for 12 weeks to hurry up so I could just let all the baby fat hang out. My mother, the realist that she is, can always be relied upon for a sobering comment. She informed me that I shouldn’t even be showing yet in my first trimester. Why do mothers have to be so real? That was not helpful for inner preggie goddess ego.

So, that basically brings you up to speed a bit. I didn’t like keeping secrets from you all for like 7 weeks! I wanted to share, big time.

So, here is my little Knocked Up wrap up:

Weeks: 13 (although 14 tomorrow)

Feeling: Digestive system working at the pace of an old tortoise. Easy to over eat and feel like a floating balloon who needs popping. Also, happy to be waving goodbye to spoil sport fatigue and Mrs Grumpy-pants.

Physical changes: Belly is getting harder up high. A sign my physical state is not just because I have been indulging on Ferroro Rochers too much.

Food of the moment: I’m a crazy foodie any old time but it’s true I don’t have insistent, nagging cravings that I have to give into (much to my disappointment) although sometimes I have liked the idea of some interesting combinations like apricots & chocolate milk. Also have loved Ginger Ale & burgers. Alcohol is also high on the wish list.

Sex prediction: Girl. All 3 of us are convinced this one is a girl. It had better be a girl. However we have already decided on a boys name… that isn’t a sign is it?

Baby observations: I suspect I felt some little baby dancing… seriously! At 13 weeks?!?! I’m still skeptical but I’m fairly sure it wasn’t gas! Whilst with Little Vick it took until 17 weeks to noticeably feel anything I am very suspicious this baby is a budding ballerina!

Belly shot: It’s true. I haven’t been taking them. Either my hair is looking like it hasn’t been brushed for six months or I’m living in my trackies and I don’t think I’m being a top advocate for pregnancy beauty, so I have been avoiding it. I will get on it, promise. For now you can enjoy this little teddy bear picture taken at the 9 week scan :)

 

That photo with Jock the Jock-less…

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That picture, right up there. The one staring at you. The one that stares at you every time you visit Knocked Up and Abroad. Have you ever wondered what the heck I was actually doing? Or who on earth that old geezer in that bagpipe get-up is?

That old geezer is Jock. Jock the jock-less, if you believe those old Scottish yarns. Although I’m sure such yarns are just a ploy by the Scottish lads to entice woman to show some interest or curiosity in them. They who wear kilts – which we all know is just an elaborate title for a skirt…. AND I’d like to point out, it’s clearly too cold to have their nads out and about dangling in the fresh breeze in blowing an icy gale, Scotland. Just saying. Anywho, I wouldn’t know if Jock was actually jock-less and keeping up that Scottish facade. I’m a no fun conservative type, as you can tell by the picture.

Jokes aside, Jock was just waiting for me in the middle of the nippy Scottish Highlands in 2010 when I hoicked by pregnant (expanding by the every European pastry I had) butt over to the other side of the world to get myself a worldly education. Scotland was my second stop on the itinerary (following England). It is my homeland (on one side of the family anyway). Not too hard to believe considering my obvious pale, ranga state. I wanted to get a feel for my place of heritage and not just skim over it so I booked a week long tour of the Highlands (still skimming it really) with an eclectic group of people who became my family for the week. This tour groups name was inspired my rounded awesomeness. We were called Clan McUptheduff. I was the front lady or mascot, or whatever, of course. The first knocked up type to travel on a Haggis bus tour apparently. Although I suspect the young, twinkly eyed lad of a tour guide has probably knocked up a few of his guests whilst on the actual tour (he did have a sleep over with one of the travelling ladies on my tour. Obviously I wasn’t contraceptive enough).

So we’re on this little bus, zig zaggin’ in between all the cliffs and bends and then we came to a stop and right there at a little look out (the one overlooking the Loch that is shaped like Scotland) was Jock. Standing and playing the bagpipes. How he got there one would never know considering he had not a car from what I could see. Perhaps he is a character from Brigadoon who just drifts in and out of the mist. I’d believe it. There was definitely something mystical about it all AND he didn’t say a word. Just played his pipes.

I am a fan of the odd so I was off the bus in a preggie second and side-ling up to him for a snap shot. He didn’t even seem to note my up the duff state nor the fact that I started to jig about him. Well, why not? Wern’t we in Scotland? And wasn’t there music being played? And don’t I have the jig built into my genes? Well OK… I was more making fun of it all, but it was just that, FUN. I guess he’s seen it all. He was probably just happy I wasn’t lifting up that kilt of his to check if those rumours are true….

One day I want to visit Scotland and try and find Jock, the mystical bagpiper again.

I love this photo. I guess that’s why it has become the banner for Knocked Up and Abroad. I get so many compliments about it. Do you think it should stay as my banner or be updated to something more Mummy bloggy appropriate? These are my current contemplations. Your input would be appreciated :)

Have you given me your Top 25 Australian Mummy Bloggers Comp vote today? Click here to vote & recieve a visit from Jock the piper ;)

Wordless Wednesday: There’s An Elephant on Brighton Beach!

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How much your life can change in a matter of a year, or two.

This time 2 years ago I was in England. Ready to embark on a all girls English road trip. Ultimately we would visit Bath, Stonehenge, Stratford Upon Avon, Newquay and sunny Brighton.

Whilst in Brighton we were blessed with a “heat wave”. The locals literally left work, took their shirts off and headed to the white pebbled beach to pretend they were actually having a summer. You would think it was 47 degrees. It was not. It was 22 degrees and possibly the only glimpse they would ever get of the sun, one would think. So I joined in with the spirit.

The way people stared at me, you would think an elephant had stepped onto the beach.

If you want to follow Vicki re-telling her knocked up European adventures, follow along on Facebook.

Knocked Up and Heading Abroad! The Dream Trip Chapter Begins….

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Setting off on my dream trip was one of those moments that didn’t go quite as I had fantasised about. I pictured being this independent, confident, fit and fabulous woman who was embarking on the greatest of empowering adventures to educate and fill my soul. I was going to come back the best woman. There would be no looking back. No regrets, no apprehension. Mr Vick would ache from missing me so much. He would agonise where I was at every moment, wonder who’s company I was in and regret not booking that plane ticket with me. We would reunite and he would fall more and more in love with every wild and cultured story I would have to tell. This was the way it was going to be.
That fantasy quickly went pear shaped, quite literally, when I discovered (with ticket booked) that I was PREGNANT!!!….. I know, how did that happen right? (and no need to answer with specifics) So I never got that clearly illustrated picture that I had made up in my head. But I was still determined to go, knocked up and all. No need to let a growing fetus get in the road of things. So I decided to carry not just a backpack but a growing baby from country to country and this is how the story went.

The sight of me at the International Melbourne Airport must have appeared a strange & hopeless case. I could be seen fumbling around. I checked, and double checked and again and again for good measure to make sure my passport was indeed where I had put it. I was suffering prego brain to the max and I didn’t quite trust my capability to remember anything. This was surely the recipe for the funniest farce to be seen or just a mere dangerous disaster (which one would it be?). I was about to jet into foreign countries in which I didn’t necessarily know anyone, speak the language, and would be solely responsible not only for myself by my offspring getting fatter by the second in my pouch. I was 23 weeks pregnant upon take off.
Am I going to be able to fit into the clothing I had packed by the end of my trip? Am I actually going to be able to carry my backpack at all (surely it was over 20kg)? What’s going to look fatter? My belly or my backpack? What if I have to wee on the plane every 10 minutes?…. I’m going to want to kill myself…… What if my ankles swell up to the size of an old persons kankle and I can’t actually walk anywhere for the next 2 months?…. What if (and this was the big one that I am sure everyone freaked a bit out about) I do indeed go into labour on the plane? Or in some remote village without a doctor or any standards of hygiene? Ok…  that was a bit over the top. I was headed to Europe, and the last time I checked it is deemed a little more than a 3rd world continent.

There was more on my mind too. I was torn about if I should indeed be going at all besides the knocked up bit. Mr Vick’s mother was ready to surrender to a long cancer battle and was expected to live a mere week. I could barely come to grips with the fact that I had probably said my final goodbye to her, in a very casual manner (I had to believe she would be here when I returned) prior to leaving for the airport – with her unborn grandchild in my belly. Was I going to fly 26 hours only to get the dreaded phone call to get back on the plane again? And the biggest…. how can I leave Mr Vick going through all of this on his own? Everyone must have thought my actions completely selfish. Everyone probably did, except him of course. But that is just an example of the amazing, selfless creature that he is. He demanded that I continue on my with my “dream trip”. He was adamant it was going to enrich me and indeed make a better mother. So there I was… feeling all the apprehension in the world, and summonsing up my courage so that I would actually walk through those big international gates and say goodbye. I felt like a child being told I couldn’t have my comfort blanket any longer. All my innards decided to come out. I won’t lie. I started crying. You can imagine right? I mean a pregnant woman’s emotions are fragile at the best, not to mention when she’s about to jet herself to another country for 2 months. Where did my inner empowered woman go?  I was freaking, but I did walk through those gates and deeper into the airport ready for take off.

I found myself making my first call to Mr Vick before I even left the country, awaiting my boarding call. Just testing out that my little phone system worked (Skype on my Ipod). It reassured me enough to actually get on the plane. We were only ever just a phone call away right? The world can’t be that big.

Whilst the air hostesses were diplomatic and pretended they didn’t notice I was getting fatter by the second (I must have represented a potential living nightmare for them), I managed to attract a few suspicious glances from the passengers on the plane. I don’t blame them. Pregnant girl on her own. I probably looked like I was being shipped out of the country to hide my expanding girth only to return again in a few months. I’m certain they were pleased not to have me sitting next to them. Who could handle the possibility of sharing a small space with of a blubbering, compulsively eating, peeing, fat ankled, forgetful, woman? Isn’t that some other mans problem? And where was he by the way? Heaven forbid… is she a single woman?…. don’t ask the awkward question of if there is a Dad in the picture.

I knew my initial apprehension had dissolved when I wanted to suddenly let out a loud cheer when the plane heaved up into the sky. WOOOOOO! I was doing it! Despite everything, I did feel liberated. I was struck that no one else seemed to want to share my sentiments. Does everyone take that trip regularly? No one else is having a little dream trip? Even “Little Vick” (baby in belly) joined in the spirit and let out a strong force of taps on the top of my tum to let me know, this is ace fun, thanks Mum. I knew then, the kid was going to be alright. I like him.It’s just him and I on this trip and since he’s pretty cool, we’re going to do alright. I was not going to be alone, ever.

I said my little prayer to the aviation gods asking to fly good and right and get me and “Little Vick” to safe ground on the other end (perhaps I did ask for a smidge of turbulence as I’m a bit of a spontaneous turbulence junkie), and from that moment I just trusted I was safe in this big old universe.

As I neared my stop over in Dubui I started noticing countries like Yeman, Oman, Qatar, countries which I did not even know existed. How big is the world again? A fraction more than what I had given it credit for obviously and obviously my geography knowledge did not really extend beyond year 8′s look at Australia. I looked out the window and was bewildered to see sand dunes stretching as far as the horizon…. nothing but sand. No tree, no sign of life. Nothing. This was not the outback. I was so far from home.

At Dubai airport I happily stretched my legs. No sign of kankles (hooray!!). I was struck by the men walking around in turbans, some with capes flowing behind and garments that resembled big moo moo’s. I felt myself in a play surrounded by people in costumes. They looked like very serious types. I felt a little uneasy. What would they think of an unmarried, defenseless, pregnant woman roaming around on her own here? If I was a woman of these dunes my opportunities would be vastly different. Chances of dream trips on your own, pregnant, were slim, or as good as none.
Needless to say I kept a low profile here. I didn’t want the scrutiny of such self empowered types. Besides I didn’t have any big bucks to buy any bling which sparkled everywhere the eye could see, so I stuck close to the free wifi instead like a true dinks back packer.

For the entire trip I sat next to a quiet, unassuming, aging man who barely spoke a word for the entire 26 hours. It humors me that you can sit next to someone for so long and only strike up a conversation when the runway is in sight. We discovered we both came from Geelong which when you’re flying to the other side of the world seems like a joyous coincidence. We were instant buddies. He told me how he does the trip annually to spend 3 months off the coast off somewhere exotic and remote along the coast near Croatia…. or Greece… or somewhere down there. Again my geography failed me. He looked to be a man who didn’t have much but I admired that he put the money and time away for himself every year to go and spend a decent amount of time by the sea and in the sun, and surrounded himself by a different culture and existence. That to me sounds like the good life. Some people get it soooo right. Perhaps it takes nearly a lifetime?

To be honest, I survived the trip better than probably most. I wasn’t going to complain about the plane ride that was shipping me off on my dream trip, like some would. I’d saved for months to take that 26 hour plane ride. I wasn’t going to whinge about the fact they were willing to cook and deliver delicious food (everything’s delicious in such a condition – and to be honest I was already in the back packer mindset; best eat now for free cos I don’t know when my next meal will come along or how much I will have to pay for it) to me every couple of hours or the fact that I got to watch movies non stop for practically 26 hours… I couldn’t afford the DVD rentals at home for that movie marathon. Somehow I did manage to afford $25 worth of magazines which I was certain I would need to kill the boredom – I didn’t read a single one. It should also be noted that I only needed to go to the toilet once during that entire time.

When I touched down at Heathrow airport after a 26 hour flight, with 2 stop overs and my almost 6 month bump I felt like I had already completed my around the world trip. I could have happily gone home then and there cos I felt I had already triumphed. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and pride and excitement. It was certainly something for the girl who grew up near Timboon, who hailed from a predominantly farming family who’s every member, up until now, had not so much as seen the insides of a jet of such proportionate size nor stepped foot into another country, not even visited Tasmania. My dream had always been to be living that moment, and I finally I was and I wasn’t alone. “Little Vick” was in for the journey of a life time too.

Someone looks stupidly happy about finally arriving on the other side of the world!

Getting About Europe Knocked Up – The Dream Trip Chapter is beginning…

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Following my declaration on Facebook last night that I was going to start (finally) sharing my knocked up, European adventure tales, I thought it best actually follow through. That is after all what this blog is supposed to be about I think.

Of course when you visit 7 countries over 7 weeks whilst you’re 7 months pregnant you have a fair bit of writing material that you could cover so the question is: where to start?

Lucky I like writing. I kept up a pretty strict regime of writing in  my journal virtually every day. Mr Vick said when he saw it that I had virtually done a degree in Scottish history. It’s true I did love ALL the details and being that I was pregnant I had to write it ALL down so that I didn’t have a case of amnesia (casually known as prego brain) upon return. A whole exciting chapter of my life could be non existent if I had to rely on my prego brain. I am thankful for such notations now and I will be sharing them going forward. You will of course have to keep in mind that they were written by a hungry, lonely, happy, emotional, energised, curious, confused, inspired, zonked, determind and grateful pregnant woman who was doing what many viewed as the unthinkable. In hindsight, I do admit I must have been a quite an image. Have you ever seen a pregnant (and I mean full belly bulging, back aching pregnant) woman backpacking? But I am so grateful to have done it. I am a better me, a better mother and a better wifey (to be) for it. I feel truly blessed and proud of myself for making my dream a reality and getting on that plane when all the signs were tell me no.

I feel the only way to really start this all off is by sharing some of my favourite shots taken over the trip to give you a bit of a sampler. It’s a tasting plate I suppose. Hope you enjoy them and the dream trip posts which will inevitably follow.

There’s are in no particular order. Just a jumble. Don’t laugh too hard at me. I like life :)

This is perhaps my loved ones most favoured shot from my trip. Something about me having a glow. I was 27 weeks pregnant when I stepped out like this on a warmish (a mild 22 degrees) day at Brighton Beach, England. Judging by the stares it was like an elephant had stepped onto the sand but I cared not. I was in love with my bump and the English sunshine!

Yes, I’m still in England here. A day in Stratford Upon Avon to be precise. Shakespeare country. I do love a red telephone booth :)

Oh I’m so Frenchy right now. The Louis Vuitton label is making me look sooo glamorous!

Perhaps a little less glamerous at the Notra Dame in Paris. I saw no hunch back, so I became the lurking hunch back with bump on back and front and all. Extra creepy!

Heading into the Moulin Rouge foyer. I was hoping to audition but I discovered I didn’t quite have the required measurements to be one of the show girls funnily enough

Did I mention I was a pregnant bridesmaid in Belgium?

 A pregnant bridesmaid who’s eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the desert table….  I had one of everything :)

At the Globe Theatre during a performance of ‘Macbeth’ in London. The most spellbinding production I’ve seen to date (and I may or may not be pregnant and drinking a can of Pepsi).

My declaration that I left on Juliet’s wall in Verona.

Oh hello Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. How breath taking are you?

Dunking my head in the icey Scottish waters… something about getting eternal beauty

Being dressed as a Scottish Highlander (you don’t even know I’m pregnant in this moo moo look a like).  This outfit has been worn by yours truly AND the material girl herself, Madonna. Not her usual slinky getup you’d have to admit.

 If you read my blog then you’d be familiar with this shot (it’s my banner). It is my favourite. This is Jock, the bagpiper found in some random look out in the Highlands of Scotland. How he get’s there no one knows. Smart looking uniform don’t you think? He said not a word, nor did he think it was odd to have a pregnant Australian girl jig around him as he played. I was just channeling my inner Scott and getting into the spirit :) I didn’t come all the way from Australia to just be conservative now did I?

:)

 

Wordless Wednesday: Feeling A Little Bit Parisean!

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I’m not sure how it got to Friday? Seems I have somehow managed to bypass Wednesday all together and not know it, which means for the first time I have not lived up to my promise of a photo post every Wednesday…. but if I sneak this in now, I reckon that still counts right?

The last week or so I have been daydreaming about Paris. My 2 (very full) days in Paris. Longing for Paris. Pining even. With my snotty red nose and flaring bad sick person temperament, the idea of Paris has been offering some escape. I keep wondering when someone is going to take me back? So I’ve dug into the photographic archives for this one. I do love it. I look so Frenchy right? That is despite the expanding girth. Somehow I figure a French woman would never look this big, even whilst pregnant. They’d be one of those pregnant woman that you despise cos they look like they just had a big lunch and would give in on occasion and unbutton the top button of their designer jeans, when in fact they’re 38 weeks pregnant and ready to drop. I bet they don’t even have maternity jeans in Paris! Anyway, that was never going to be me, I had big maternity jeans (and loved them) and I will just have to settle to be a French wanna be (and now I will stop writing cos this is supposed to be wordless!).

29 weeks pregnant in Paris!