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I have started to wonder more and more recently whether modern pregnancy is sometimes the victim off too much information. There are thousands of resources for anyone with the slightest interest in what is happens to the human body during pregnancy, in fact, I can’t think of another 40 weeks of a human being’s life which is so well documented.

I don’t suppose I am unique in using some of the many internet resources available. I get a few land in my Inbox every week giving me the lowdown on what both me and Maybe are up to, and for once I seem to be hitting all and every milestone with predictable ease – but therein lies the curse.

It is all very well when your daily belly button inspection suddenly reveals an emerging Linea Negra right on cue, or the day you realise you have made it past 9pm without so much as a yawn, but what happens when you suddenly get something that didn’t appear in your weekly bulletin?

I’ll tell you what, abject panic is what! Last week I had my first (and so far only) episode of round ligament pain, and by jeebus it hurt. I think I would have been high tailing it to the nearest A&E if I hadn’t been forewarned about it. But then the next day I started getting achy, stretchy pains, of the sort I had in the early weeks, and I was nothing short of hyperventilating because none of my weekly digests had told me to expect it. It took a frenzied 5 minutes on Google before I found out that all was fine and dandy, but it made me wonder, am I coming to rely on information too much? And is all of this information robbing me of some of the mystery and enjoyment of this journey I’m on?

I suppose if I had to use a motoring analogy (and c’mon, would I miss a chance to do just that??) I feel a bit like a rally driver at the moment, with a co-driver sitting beside me describing every bump in the road. What I think I would rather have is some bloke with a map who tells me what road I need, and then lets me enjoy discovering the rest for myself.In other news, I have a bit of a pregnancy related woe at the moment, my gums are taking a battering of epic proportions. I have an exposed root on one tooth and despite making several appointments, I don’t yet seem to have been able to get a dentist to look at me. Ordinarily, this would be a cause for celebrations, but at the moment I’m paranoid that I’m going to wake up each morning with teeth falling out right and left. Clearly I won’t, but I consider this one more black mark against the weekly digests.

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