If it hadn’t been for a family holiday in Portugal, I could have continued to keep my little secret to myself.
I knew that as champagne was poured poolside at our villa, eyes would turn to my usually washboard stomach in my bikini, which was now just ever so slightly rounded. Suspicions would be confirmed when I turned down a glass of fizz… not like me at all.
I couldn’t avoid it any longer. A week before the trip, I told the six close family members that yes, at 40, I was indeed pregnant with my first child – and five months gone, at that.
There were gasps, smiles, hugs and a few tears, but mostly shock given that we’d kept our hopes of being parents completely private until then. But to be frank, I’d have kept my pregnancy secret much longer than five months had I been able to.
You might be wondering why I was so cagey about being ‘with child’. Everything about my situation was kosher: our little boy was a much-wanted first child for my husband and I, and we were thrilled at the prospect of becoming parents.
What I wasn’t so overjoyed about, however, when the two lines appeared on the test, was the prospect of the impending wave of attention I’d get from everyone around me.
The law of social media dictates that when you reach the 12-week scan, a cutesy babygro and scan photos are artfully arranged for an Instagram post. While a recent spate of public figures from Rihanna to Carrie Johnson have hidden their pregnancy until their final trimester – or even until after the birth – it’s not the done thing for mere mortals.
Sadie Nicholas on holiday– when she was 3 months pregnant with her first child, a little boy
‘I loved that I could pass for not-pregnant… and wanted to keep it that way as long as possible,’ writes Sadie (pictured at 5 months)
So why wasn’t I following the announcement trend, choosing to keep my pregnancy a closely guarded secret?
Well, I loved that I could pass for not-pregnant, due to my slim build, and wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.
It was only the fact that I was wearing a skimpy bikini on that holiday that gave away my little bump. I easily could have reached seven months without anyone realising when I was fully clothed.
Did I feel smug when people’s eyes fell to my trim middle when we announced the news, only to question whether I really was pregnant? Hell, yes!
The thrill of my bump not showing in my non-maternity size eight to ten clothes until I was 31 weeks pregnant felt like a glorious little triumph, a surreptitious two fingers up to those who would inevitably assume (hope, even) that I’d go to seed now I was growing a human.
I’d always been a slave to the gym, and ran 10km three times a week. I still wanted to be that woman as well as being a mum.
On a personal level, there being no obvious physical signs of pregnancy reassured me that I wasn’t fated to pile on the pounds, a fear rooted in disordered eating in my teens.
I didn’t want anyone to mollycoddle me, or for impending motherhood to allow them to define me in a different way. I was having enough trouble wrestling with my own perceptions of myself, without anyone else piling in.
Once we told my own close family, we also broke the news to my husband’s. Word soon spread and within days I felt overwhelmed by the attention.
Recently celebrities such as Rihanna have kept their pregnancies secret until the final trimester – but that isn’t the done thing for mere mortals, Sadie says
Sadie, pictured during her final trimester, has always hated being the centre of attention – and hated the idea of pregnancy putting her in the spotlight
The spotlight turned on both me and my husband, but particularly on me. The inevitable influx of congratulatory messages and calls from well-meaning friends began. Having always hated being the centre of attention, this only served to compound my belief that we were right to put off telling people for as long as we had.
‘I can’t believe you haven’t told us till now!’ was a typical comment, which felt a little judgmental. I wouldn’t share other intimate medical information, so why should my pregnancy be public property?
A card from the wife of one of my husband’s friends printed with the words ‘Congratulations to the mum-to-be!’ tipped me over the edge. She barely knew me and was wrongly assuming that I would welcome being defined in this way.
Oh, what I’d have given to have kept our news to ourselves until our gorgeous boy was here.
Keeping the tummy-touchers, as I call them, at bay for five blissful months was a great bonus that was sorely missed. I will never understand why, once you’re pregnant, some people feel they have a right to grab a woman’s stomach.
More fool them. They soon realised their mistake when I firmly slapped their hands away.
The judgmental ones – with their chippy comments about me ‘finally’ becoming a mum at 40 – missed out on months of their fun too. And I’d had plenty of time to brace myself for snide remarks such as, ‘I’d pay to see you in soft play’.
Those five months of secrecy gave my husband and I the space to enjoy our news and to plan for our little boy without any white noise from other people. I was also able to contemplate how my new life as a mum might look compared with my old one, where my career as a journalist always came first.
To be honest, nine months of total silence on the subject would have been preferable. And just imagine the shock factor of the announcement then!
