In the Belly of the Whale: Pregnancy and Identity at the Dawn of the Third Millennium

This is a depressing little insight into my life on Sunday 2nd March this year when I must have sat down and written this. I am delighted to announce that at sixteen weeks my "morning" sickness (what a cruel joke that is!) came to an end, so even though I didn't know it at this point, I was only about three weeks away from life returning to normal. I am now at twenty-seven weeks and have been MUCH happier for the last eleven or so. Still a bit sick sometimes but nothing like I was. But all praise be to God because he has expanded my heart so much to make room for this funny little creature that keeps punching me from the inside.

Anyway, I think this is an interesting insight into the mind of a very sick pregnant woman:


Who are you?


Can I answer that in past tense, please?


If you must…


I was a fun wife. I laughed and joked a lot with my husband, I had energy for him, affection for him and I was playful. I was probably never amazing at helping out with housework, but I definitely cooked fairly often and would very occasionally have a rare bought of cleanliness. We would put on music and dance around the house, we would go for walks or go out together, we would sing karaoke together and play games and chat.

I was a high-school English teacher, I was full of energy, I was passionate and enthusiastic. I loved the teenagers that I taught and I was patient with them and kind to them. I was committed to the task of educating the students entrusted into my care, I used to prepare for hours, I’d lie awake at night and dream up new ideas for the classroom. I was good with technology in my school, I used to train my fellow teachers and I always found time to help them out. I used to mark students’ work late into the night and then wake up early to meet up with students for coffee before school. I loved the colleagues that I worked with. I had all the time in the world for them and I used to see lots of them outside of work hours.

I used to go out all the time. I rarely had quiet weekends. I liked to try and pack as many friends into each weekend as I could. My husband and I loved to have friends round for dinner. Sometimes we’d have one lot of guests for lunch and another lot for dinner that same evening. We were good at entertaining. Other times, we’d see films or go out for dinner. I’d go shopping with girlfriends for hours, covering miles of territory. I’d catch up with three different friends for coffee in one afternoon after going to my book club that morning.

I used to read books. I used to read all the time. I could concentrate on a book for hours on end, often finishing a whole novel in a day and sometimes picking up a second one before I went to bed. I used to write for fun. I wrote pages and pages and entertained my friends with my silly ideas. I used to write on the train and at any time that I could find a moment of quiet.

I was involved at my church. I used to be on the roster almost every week, sometimes I’d usher, read the bible reading and do supper all in one night. Occasionally I’d lead services, which took me a fair bit of preparation. My husband and I used to lead a bible study group. I used to cook dinner for about fifteen people every Wednesday night after work and it never used to phase me. I’d often lead studies, and sometimes they’d be good, sometimes even profound.

I used to love food. My bookshelves are full of recipe books that haven’t been opened for ages. I used to pour over my new books and the magazines that I subscribed to and I used to actually try new recipes really often. I used to really enjoy cooking, whether it was just for my husband and myself or for a massive crowd. I was just getting into baking, it was new territory for me but I had found some fantastic cake and biscuit recipes and I was getting better.


So, who are you now?


Now I am three months pregnant.

For the last fifty days I have vomited at least once every day but more often I have vomited around four times a day.

I have no energy, no memory, no brainpower, no patience.

I cannot leave the house after five o’clock at night, as that is when the vomiting sets in. I haven’t attended church or bible study in weeks. I haven’t seen anyone socially for a long time.

I go to bed between seven o’clock and eight-thirty every night.

I live on Lebanese bread, two-minute noodles and ginger beer and have for weeks and weeks.


Who do you want to be?


That is not an easy question to answer.

On one hand, I want to go back to being who I was.

On the other hand, I’m praying that God will change my heart and make me want to be a mother.



This is not my belly - but how amazing is that picture?!
And how amazing is God, who hears all of our prayers. Now I regularly catch myself telling whatever creature lurks under my skin that I love it - so God is good...