Thursday, 15 November 2012

of Greece, Gods and Salted Gold

Half-way through the month and a little over a third through the pregnancy.

Or as I like to call it, the habitation or invasion.

Before I go on, I should warn my dear readers that I am not (thus far) of the glowy-happy preggo persuasion.  That probably goes without saying for my regular readers, but in case you're new to this corner I'm giving you fair warning.*

Yes, these past few months have felt more like being host to a parasite than making a cute baby, and I know parasites.  I drank the water in Turkey and ate the street food in Morocco.  I know parasites.

Here's a tip, to you from me, Pinky Lee, don't schedule a beach holiday in the middle of your first trimester. Especially if that holiday is in a country where you can't flush toilet paper so every toilet, public or otherwise, has an aroma which sends you dry-heaving even when you're not 8 weeks pregnant.

Two days after we moved, we left London for the sunny beaches of Greece.  We hadn't had a proper relaxing holiday in over a year (Morocco doesn't count, we were both sick twice and spent at least half the time in a crowded and hot SUV. I said relaxing holiday) so we were looking forward to a week of laying around and eating.

I did a lot of laying around.  Not so much eating.

attempting glowy-happy & failing

I spent four point five of the seven days rotating between the bed, the balcony and the toilet.  Eating was next to impossible   The buffet on offer turned my stomach before I even got close enough to see what I couldn't eat.  I was stockpiling apples in the room and the only things I could keep down were generic cocoa pop-like cereal in the morning and bland spaghetti in the afternoon and evening.  But even then it wasn't a safe bet.

Before I forget.  You know what's awesome when you're feeling like you are dying?  And I say this with complete sincerity, salted crisps.  Regular potato chips.  They are a gift from the gods.  Seriously, the mythic gods worshiped in the surrounding temples reached down from the heavens and delivered me crunchy, crispy, salted gold.

Of course that could have been Pete coming back from the local store.  He is olive skinned with dark curly hair and I was laying on the dark bathroom floor.  It's entirely possible I was hallucinating.

So preggo tip No. 1, no beachy holidays with plumbing that won't accept toilet paper and salted potato chips are AMAZING!!!!

*These experiences are completely my own and I pass no judgement on glowy-happy preggo women or mean to cause pain to those suffering through infertility.  


  1. Poor you. Crisps really are manna from heaven.

    And I've convinced myself that I *was* the glowy-happiest but husband reminds me i was quite otherwise during the first trimester (we went on holiday at w7 to a hippy beach community in Egypt with no hot water? I wholeheartedly second your advice above.)

  2. yep, sounds familiar! Try camping at one of Europe's biggest music festivals at week 10. You share the toilets with 100,000 of drunk and drugged fun lovers. Takes gagging to a whole new level I found.

  3. Go on and tell it like it is, sister. You don't have to lose your sense of humor/snark just because you're playing host to an alien.

    Also, ugh. Why am I planning on putting myself through this again?

    1. Snarky and proud!

      The goal, of course, is not to scare you off pregnancy. We probably didn't put nearly as much thought or research into it as we should have, which made the decision easier. Maybe.
      We just jumped and hope it turns out as well as our other under-thought-out leaps.