Tuesday, May 22, 2012

title pic Pregnancy

Posted by dulwichmum on Fri 16 March 2007

Yesterday morning at North Dulwich station, waiting for the train to take me to London Bridge, I was reminising about when I was based full-time at London Bridge. I was pregnant there with both of my darling babies, Max and Freya.

The men at North Dulwich Station are all so very well dressed, proper business men, city types, they would not look out of place in bowler hats. Not a single one of them would ever stand up to allow me to sit down even when I was obviously heavily pregnant. I remember the discomfort of that daily train journey so vividly.

I was terribly unwell during my pregnancies. I never experienced any of that glowing skin and shiny hair business that the midwives promised. I got no sleep, was permanently nauseated and running to the toilet, and had bleeding gums from the time I conceived until delivery. My breath must have smelled like the floor of a hamster’s cage.

When pregnant with Freya, my pelvis started to come apart at about five months and I had great difficulty walking. That was just the worst thing of all. Getting down the stairs onto the platform at North Dulwich train station was more painful than labour (I had planned caesareans afterall), and took an age.

Black men and women would always stand up and let me sit down, but never the Giles or Keith’s in their expensive suits.

One morning I was so anaemic, exhausted and uncomfortable standing on the train, that I actually passed out. I collapsed on the floor – with a crash.

When I regained consciousness there was a smelly old tramp, kneeling by me and stroking my face gently saying;

“Never mind love, it happens to us all“.

A lovely older african lady helped me to her seat, and told him I would be OK. They were so kind – guardian angels. I remember thinking:

“I want Max to be a proper kind gentle man like that sweet tramp“, and he is!

Pregnancy is the pits.

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