January 7th, 2013
Well, all good things must sadly come to an end! I thought the end of my holiday would be the only thing I’d have to worry about.
I was wrong.
Thanks to the fact that I had spent the last 2 weeks in nothing boubous, Patrick’s t-shirts, and loose fitting track downs, I haven’t realized how much my bump has grown. But as I stood in my bedroom this morning, with half my wardrobe littered all over the floor and bed, I realized that I was in deep, deep trouble.
Everything was tight! My shirts wouldn’t button, my jackets wouldn’t close, and my dresses wouldn’t zip. This was the real meaning of the word gbege! As Patrick fumed over the delay, I knew I would have to wear the only thing that would fit…and that would effectively mean by secret would be out in the open!
And I was right! As I walked into the office in my camisole, loose pants, and unbuttoned jacket, all eyes were on my stomach!
“Ehen, I knew it!!!” “No wonder you were so pale before!!” “Ah, Oga was really at work this Christmas oh!” “Congrats, Iya Beji” was all I heard from 8am to 5pm, when I finally was able to leave the office. Yes, it is nice not to have to hide any longer, but all the attention today was a bit stifling. The only person who hadn’t given me much attention had been Ebika, my office “besto”. She is my closest friend at work, but I use the word close loosely. Even though she always has juicy gossip to share, I haven’t extend the friendship outside work, because I know a person with her kind of loose lips isn’t the kind of person to have hanging around. She’s a lot of fun when it comes to gifting during lunch time, or gossiping over our office e-mail and instant messenger, but nothing more than that. I could tell that she feels slighted I hadn’t told her before, but I can’t even give myself that kind of headache abeg! When she’s tired of sulking, she’ll get over it.
On our way home, I had to persuade Patrick to drive by a maternity clothing shop in Phase 1, because I knew I couldn’t keep dressing like a frumpy mama for the rest of the week. I thought all the clothes would be hideous, but to my surprise, most of the maternity outfits were actually quite nice. I came home with enough work staples; two pairs of black maternity trousers, a few wrap-over dresses, and lots of loose fitting tops. With these, I would be able to mix and match effectively for the next few weeks.
As we drove into our compound, Nwando’s bobo’s Mercedes was parked in the same spot as it was since yesterday, and I realized that it was also there when we drove out this morning. Na wa oh! These two were not playing games.
In other news, I’m 12 weeks pregnant this week! In another week, the dreaded first trimester will be over! My nuchal fold scan is later this week, and I’m really looking forward to it…and dreading it at the same time. Dear Jesus, take the wheel!
January 8th, 2013
I felt more like my normal fashionable self today, in clothes that were a much better fit. As I had more dress up time, I decided to get my makeup done…complete with a full lip of red gloss. And I got enough compliments to make up for the stress…from my darling Patrick, to the security guards at the office. Everyone told me how wonderful I looked. I was beginning to have that pregnancy glow.
When it was lunchtime, I called Ebika’s extension, to ask if we could go to the cafeteria together. I wasn’t entirely surprised by her reaction.
“So I’m good enough to be your court jester and lunchtime entertainment, but not good enough to know about your pregnancy!” she had said angrily, and I could feel her venom through the phone handset.
“Ebika, you knew about my last miscarriage! Patrick and I just agreed not to let anyone know this time around” was my own cool response.
Yep, I had made the mistake of telling Ebika the last time I was pregnant…and about the miscarriage that followed a few weeks later. I shouldn’t have been surprised when I started getting a few looks of pity, and even preferential treatment from practically all our colleagues. When I had asked Ebika if she had shared my news, she had sighed deeply, and admitted having told a few people, because they had noticed how downcast she had been…in the elevator…in the car park…at her desk. In fact, it appeared she had been even more downcast than me, the victim. Talk about mourning more than the bereaved.
I had been upset, but hadn’t bothered dragging it any further. Na me wey mess up! I knew the girl was a basket mouth, but yet I had gone on to tell her my intimate news. So, whatever came my way, I just had to take it like that. But I swore to myself that it would be the last time!
“Well, I’m not hungry!” Ebika retorted, before cutting of the line.
I stared at my receiver briefly, before laughing and replacing it. See this girl oh! Who even has her time sef?! I am probably better off without being tagged alongside a renown office gossip like her.
No time for nonsense abeg!
Catch up on Faith’s story here:
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 1: BFP
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 2: Lukewarm Response
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 3: The Struggle
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 4: Tricked
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 5: Keeping her man
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 6: Men are so annoying!
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 7: Bleeding
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 8: The 9 Week Mark
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 9: Festive
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 10: The Holiday
- Faith’s Pregnancy Diary 11: This thing called love