I wouldn’t usually ******** but I’m pregnant

Seat pocket on an easyJet A319, showing safety...

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This time is was…

I wouldn’t usually puke on the plane but I’m pregnant.

Yes I was the lady putting the sick bag to its full use last week.

I’m not one of those people who are nervous about flying, even with turbulence. But my pregnant tummy was not in agreement on this journey. I think it was the mixture of turbulence during landing, morning fatigue, soaring hormones and a sudden change in cabin pressure.  And no matter how much I applied the theory of mind over matter and sudden heavy breathing, there was no holding this one back – ‘coming ready or not’.

Some less versed with the ways of the pregnant body might argue that the chunder blunder was attributable to the cupcakes I’d just troughed down for my breakfast 30 minutes earlier. My retort was that if I had not eaten something at this point, the experience could have been a whole lot worse.

All I can say is that goodness I wasn’t on a Ryan Air flight where sick bags don’t come in the seat back as standard. Blimey I bet the charge you a Tenner for the privilege! I’m afraid the seat pocket would have had to endure the 60 second cupcake painting makeover, if that was to be the case.

I thought I’d been quite discrete, as much as you can be in that situation. Even hubby was pleasantly surprised as apparently I can’t do anything quietly. But it seems we were both deluded as I found out a day later. Exiting a cafe in a country park, a couple called over to me asking if I was feeling better.

Mmmm…Had I looked particularly ill during the walk to the park before our tea and sausage roll stop (sausage roll for the pregnant lady in the corner please)? Politely I thanked them and explained that I now felt fine – I’d had a sausage roll after all, who wouldn’t feel better?

Then they explained that they’d been on the same plane as me. Oh no, they had definitely not been sat close by – I would have remembered. How many people heard me chuck up my morning guts? Was it the sickly smell wafting from my vicinity? Was it the loud huffing and puffing?  Or was it babe who had let the sickly cat out the bag by shouting “mummy, mummy, mummy” as hubby tried to keep her occupied as I did the dirty deed? I found out afterwards that it was not my welfare she was concerned for; she just wanted a sick bag of her own – charming!


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