I’ve been bursting to tell you that Daddy-In-Waiting and I finally got hitched!
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Whoop! Ring the bells and… bring on the baby conversation. Yep. Already. And not by me.
A lovely guest of ours – who will remain nameless – ran up to us before we’d even finished our first glass of champagne and asked:
“Soooo... Babies next?”
Whilst… PATTING MY TUMMY!
Not only didn’t she (yes, SHE! So much for female comradeship!) tiptoe around an inappropriately timed question, she jumped hands first, onto my post-cake bloat, wanting to know if we were going to start a plural family “next”. Like it was a shopping list.
I spat out my champagne. On her •.
You know another thing I wanted to spit out on her? Mucus. Yeah, ok, when I read that back I realised it sounded a bit very odd, but hear me out. A friend of mine, also on the Mumma-In-Waiting highway, was telling me – in a high-pitched excited voice that only cats can hear – how she’d just started noticing the ovulation mucus. THE WHAT? Another friend joined in:
“Oh yeah, I’ve stretched mine between my fingers.”
Again, WHAT? No, really, WHAT? Where was I during sex education classes? How did I not know about this?! Now, as the majority of people reading this are more than likely already with child, I’m at risk of sounding extremely uneducated, but it feels like the more I find out about pregnancy – and indeed conception – the more I need to go back to the beginning and do my research on timings, ovulation and… mucus.
My friends and I have had countless conversations – sometimes over wine, and sometimes ‘because we’re trying to be healthy to help our chances to conceive’ over carrot sticks – about the best time to conceive, things we want to do before then, but never have we ever had a mucus conversation. Until now. But I guess we all have to find these things out somehow, right? I just didn’t think it would be on my wedding day.
Mucus and baby conversations aside, we both had the best day of our lives, and I can’t wait to continue to share our journey with you. As for the aforementioned guest, she’ll have to keep on patting my tummy every time she sees me, because I’m pretty sure my cake baby will still be there in nine months time.
• Oh, ok, I didn’t spit it out on her. That would've been a waste. But in my head I did.