Viva Italia: A Whirlwind Weekend In Milan
/Milan, I thought, is a grey city full of slim fashionistas stalking cafes where they drink tiny, piping hot espressos. Everyone wears black. This vague impression, conjured from god-knows-where, was blown to dust within moments of touching down in Malpensa airport.
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This second pregnancy is nothing like my first. I am calm, cocooning. I do my exercises, occasionally even yoga. I have an ample supply of comfortable maternity clothes and a giant (and I mean giant) horseshoe pillow that encloses and immobilises me in a firm hold at night. Sshhh. It whispers. I got you.
I am on top of my medical appointments. I take my vitamins and monitor my blood pressure. I have been registered at the maternity hospital since around the third month of my pregnancy. My husband and I spent about 15 minutes discussing a baby name, decided, smiling, and haven’t wavered since.
I am, in short, having almost the opposite experience as my first pregnancy.