Sometimes retail surgery is called for

18 week bump

Yesterday was my and baby’s 18 week milestone, and I had a horrid self-pitying moment, which I hope baby did not share. Having spent all morning in bed reading and scouring the internet for 18 week 3d scan pictures, I eventually made it downstairs. My housemates were hungover, watching the Olympics amidst piles of weekend supplements and I became instantly morose and uncommunicative, and wanted to slam things around in the kitchen. I hated myself for behaving in that way too, which made it even worse. I could feel my chest getting tighter and tighter… Fiona eventually came in and braved speaking to me, upon which I burst into uncontrolled sobbing. I don’t know what came over me. Fiona just sort of stood there looking confused and helpless, and then suggested we take a walk into town. I didn’t want to go at first, then changed my mind. Glowering around the house all day was not going to help.

You cannot beat retail therapy for the blues. Sometimes retail surgery is called for, it depends on the seriousness of the complaint. Having sworn blind not to buy anything (especially clothes – what’s the point?!) Fiona broke my resolve by dragging me into Jigsaw and forcing me to try on dresses. ’You NEED a dress for your dad’s wedding’, she said, which suddenly made perfect sense. Next stop, Ghost, where I was seduced by some very lovely perfume on the counter. Final purchase was for baby – a CD of Strauss waltzes. Baby likes classical and Strauss is lovely, lilting, feel good music.

Armed with unfeasible amounts of posh packaging, we then headed for John Lewis and lurked around in the beauty section, hoping that none of the immaculately made-up Barbie doll shop assistants would notice we weren’t wearing any make-up. I am a hopeless impulse shopper, really. My resounding, repetetive cry is ‘HOW much?!’. It’s a miracle I ever buy anything. By this time it was getting late, and we had decided to go to the pictures. Fiona wanted to see Wall-e but we were too late so ended up seeing Mama Mia. I have now decided that baby and I will go live in sun-drenched bliss in a villa on a Greek island, and sing Abba songs all day long with our Greek servants forming a comedy chorus. And Spider will turn up one day and sing S.O.S even more cringeingly badly than Piers Brosnan, and then will suddenly propose after twenty years of not having been around for me – and unlike Meryl Streep I will tell him to get lost. It will be my finest hour.