Pregnancy has invaded all the aspects of my life, so you can forgive me if it keeps popping up in my thoughts and writing. I must also be forgiven should I leak too much information, because another joy of pregnancy is a gradual loss of privacy.
You have medics looking and poking in places which rarely see the sun, and you have to gradually mentally accept the fact that giving birth will be the most messy and un-private grand finale.
In fact, a distended belly is already very public evidence of a most private act; perhaps as one of God's little ironic jokes. I have come to the conclusion there is no such thing as too much information in pregnancy.
So anyway, of late, I have been an active participant in Toilet Olympics because the frequency with which I must pee has more than quadrupled. I am a great fan of action movies and fellow fans of director Quentin Tarantino will know what I am talking about when I mention the five point palm heart exploding technique.
It featured in the movie Kill Bill, at the end of which said Bill was finally killed using this martial arts move. The five point palm exploding heart technique involves an intricate blow to the heart after which the victim will die after he takes five steps.
Forgive my wandering thoughts, but I am getting to the point: thinking about that technique is one of the things that makes me laugh and makes my numerous trips to the loo bearable.
I have developed my own pregnancy art - the three point extended peeing technique. You see, not only am I going to the loo 10 times more often, I also find that the actual peeing is not a straight forward process.
My body seems to have developed extra pockets in which to hide pee and surprise me with it 10 minutes after I have already left the loo. So now I go the normal way, then I lean to the left, then I lean slightly to the right but backwards, then I get up as if I am leaving the loo. But on some rare occasions even these acrobatics do not fool my crazy bladder.
I will walk all the way back to my office desk, sit down and immediately feel the urge to pee again. All I can say is, don't get pregnant if you do not have the ability to laugh at yourself.
One reason I believe I find it easy to share my 'too much information' with anonymous readers is that at the moment, I have no similarly situated friends. When my maid of honour and I were in high school, we vowed to marry and be pregnant at the same time.
In real life, however, synchronising such schedules proved a little harder, so I am the only pregnant person in my circle of friends and I am worried I will bore or scare them with my whining. In fact, if you are wise, you learn to refrain from telling single people about your married problems. It forces you to rely on your spouse, which can be a wonderful bonding tool.
My Hubby, it seems, is something of a mad genius psychologist. His solution to my second trimester mood swings was to bring me a kitten. Now, I like dogs and cats and already have some, but this kitten has revolutionised my life. I get regular exercise from chasing it around and occasionally being chased by it.
I have a sense of responsibility over something other than myself, which is great because I have absolutely hated the helplessness that trimester one caused me. Looking at a baby cat has finally given me a sense of anticipation at seeing my own baby humans - before this I viewed the pregnancy as an alien invasion intent on my misery and destruction. The kitten has made the home lively in a special way and I would recommend kitten therapy for any depressed pregnant mums.
One martial art I would like to explore is how to hypnotise people with my belly so they can hand over all their money. While it is nice to have people's gaze drawn away from my boobs or my thoroughly neglected dreadlocks, it is taking me a while to get used to people now addressing my belly. Perhaps I should tattoo my stomach and wear crop tops to make the viewing easier.