Give a girl the right pair of shoes . . . And she can conquer the world!

Natures way of sharing the secret.

There are a million squillion little hints that Mother Nature will send your way when she wants to share with you the news that you're pregnant. And as a woman you have already been blessed with a talent that enables you to cleverly analyse everything. You can dissect every little hint until you've cracked the code. It's quite spectacular actually.

And you've been practising for years. Did you know? Yep. Remember when that boy in year 5 pinged your bra strap and you spent the rest of your primary education debating whether or not this gesture meant he fancied you as much as he fancied himself? Well that was all practise. That and the thousands of similar scenarios you've found yourself in throughout the years. All practise. For this moment. Right now.

Tis fortunate actually that we are so good at reading the signs. If men carried babies I highly doubt that a bunch of little signals and signs would be enough to inform them. Show me a man who can take a hint and I'll explain exactly why boys have nipples.

He would probably need one of those planes to let him know for sure. The ones that fly over on special occasions, pulling a congratulations banner for the happy couple for instance. 'Congratulations Jim.' it would read as it flies high above the crowds at Old Trafford. 'You're up the duff my son!' - And the crowd would go wild.

Slightly more subtle signals are fine for us though, not to mention a little cheaper than having to hire a plane. You see all we really need is a little time to figure it out, to soak up the signals and recognise the changes in our bodies/the atmosphere/our appetite. That and about a tenner for a home pregnancy test.

For some of us the symptoms won't occur until way after the test has displayed a positive result. But for me, personally, the test merely confirms the suspicions roused my some, if not all, of the following hints . . .

Feeling a weeny bit sick.

Not perhaps the sort of sick one might feel when waking the morning-after-the-night-before, having consumed ones body weight in booze, (remember that feeling? Good, well keep hold of it cos you're gonna miss it in a few months time.

More the kind of 'motion sickness' you get when travelling. Like car sickness or even better sea-sickness. Now I can't claim to be an expert sailor (though I once captained a rowing boat on the river in Guildford a few summers back, and was extremely good at it, even if I do say so myself,) but nevertheless I often relate the sickness I feel when 'with child' to that I imagine I'd feel at sea. On a boat that sways violently. Upon choppy waters. On a really windy day. Bluerrgh. You sort of get that icky taste in your mouth, accompanied with a hot sweat and occasionally the urgency to have a chat with the toilet seat. Nice.

Smelling Funny.

No! Don't be silly. I don't mean you're going to find yourself smelling funny, (unless of course you choose not to wash for the next nine months or something?!) I mean that how you smell will be funny. Your sense of smell will be funny. Oh you know what I mean!

I'm fairly certain that pregnant women, especially in the very early stages, could be employed instead of sniffer dogs at airports, sniffing out drugs and weapons and dodgy perfume and such. Because if a cat has p'd in the neighbouring town, or indeed somebody in China has lit a barbecue we know about it.

And this new sense of smell accompanies the sickness thing rather well. Because very often a woman suspecting she may be pregnant will suddenly find something she loved last week, coffee. For example, now smells so revolting that it's making her feel physically sick.

So if your other half's scent, which used to be so sexy and alluring now reminds you of a man-brothel, despite him not changing aftershave or anything, then you might very well be 'in the club.'

Your Breast Friends.

Look down. There they are, somewhere between your navel and your nose. (if you're lucky they'll be closer to your nose still.) They've been there for some time now, though you might not have always paid them the attention they deserve. Do they look different? Bigger? Fuller?

Could it be that the 'Extreme Makeover' team broke into your house last night, gave you free implants whilst you were sleeping and then left again without leaving a trace of evidence? No? Well then you might well have just had a boob job compliments of Mother Nature herself. She tends to dish them out by way of congratulating the newly preggers woman.

If they don't look different have a little grope. Or better still ask a man, (preferably a handsome one,) to do it for you. Heavier? A little tender? A bit achy? Yep. That's a sign too.

Now taking care to ensure the blinds are closed, (and you are indeed in your own home) expose your breast friends and have a little peek at them in the mirror. Has someone stolen your nipples and replaced them with larger/darker/different ones? Don't worry. They'll be back in a year or so.

Being so sleepy.

Not just yawning once or twice in the mornings but actually feeling so incredibly exhausted that you could almost kill for your PJ's and fluffy-slippers and the chance to catch a few Z's before the clock has even reached 4pm.

If this is you - you must succumb to the land of nod. Sleep now whilst you can. Go on – right now! (I'll wait right here for you.) Sleep at your desk, in your car, on the sofa, on the bus, in bed, it doesn't matter where. (though perhaps avoid falling asleep in the tub.) And if anyone asks? Just tell them Steph told you you could.

Just wanting to *cry/scream/shout/wail (*Delete as appropriate)

Now this one is a tricky signal to read. As women, of course we are fully within our rights to swing from mood to mood as often as the wind changes. I'm not sure anyone's ever actually granted us permission, yet we all do it. We reserve the right to transcend from lovely smiley, reasonable women to psycho bitches from hell within a split second should we choose. We are not required to give any notice, or provide an adequate explanation for our behaviour and we don't need reason. It could be something someone says. Or something someone doesn't say. Or indeed something we ourselves wanted to say, but didn't, for whatever reason. It doesn't matter. We're women and therefore fully within our rights.

So it isn't right to assume that a woman in floods of tears over a building society ad on TV is pregnant. (She might just be overdrawn?!) - yet if you are amongst those fortunate women whom can control emotions fairly well ordinarily and cannot right now, then yep, you're probably expecting.

Yesterday my friend Amber made me a chocolate cake ('the answer to everything!' she cleverly informs me.) and I nearly cried. Not because I don't like chocolate cake (I LOVE it!!) not because I was thinking of the calories (We don't have to now we're pregnant! Woohoo!) but because I was so touched that someone would do that for me on a day that wasn't the 23rd Feb (my birthday.) And now I cannot walk into the kitchen without my eyes welling up once again. Pregnant? Er yes.

I feel dizzy/faint and I haven't even looked at beer or vodka or wine . . .

If truth be told this is one little hint that I haven't experienced myself, despite my being suitably impressed with the whole dramatic sense of romance that a decent swoon can provide. Many of my friends have had dizzy episodes and felt faint in the early stages of pregnancy. Once again chocolate cake could be the answer if you've had these kind of spells, but we'll talk more on curing these symptoms later.

I'm so achy!

Just in case her more subtle hints don't have you whizzing round the shops to get your test Mother Nature will give you, the unsuspecting expecting woman, a little physical nudge from time to time. She'll nudge you in the lower back, in your calves, in your bum, any where an ache can be felt come to think of it. So if you are feeling a little tender ask yourself this; Did you just run a marathon? Are you recovering from the flu? No. Right then missy . . .

Where's my period?!

Clever women keep a record of their cycles. Some write cryptic messages on calenders to remind them, with initials such a 'PD' (period due) written in tiny-weeny, barely-there letters at the bottom of the date when 'Aunt Flo' is due a visit. Other not-so-clever girls (yours truly for example) will forget to make a note. Or indeed could leave themselves reminders so incredibly cryptic that even they cannot decipher them.

Either way at some point you should be able to suss out when your period was due and whether it is (not-so-fashionably) late this month.

Twas the lower-back ache combined with a little feeling of queasiness that first sent alarm bells ringing in my brain last Tuesday. An organised gal would have been able to do the maths off the top of her head in order to draw a conclusion. Not I. I sat staring at last months calendar anxiously replaying the scenes from my social life over and over again for the best part of an hour.

'On Thursday I went to lunch with the girls. I wore jeans. I ate a sandwich. Egg mayo. Mmmmm. Would I have worn jeans and eaten a sandwich if I was on my period?!' I wondered.

'On Friday I walked 2 miles to Rhyme time with the baby. Was I in a foul mood? Not at all. In fact it was a lovely day. We laughed and sang and smiled. Nope period didn't come that day.' I decided.

'On Saturday night Mr. C and I went to a fancy-dress party. We were dressed as Fred and Wilma Flintstone. I wore a white dress, drank too much and nearly died the following day. Would I have worn a white dress and drank too much if I was on my period? Nope. Because everyone knows that white dresses, aunt flo and impaired judgement or balance caused by excessive beer-drinking by a 26 year old wife and mother who really should know better, is a recipe for disaster, one that even I am not silly enough to try.'

'Aha!' a light-bulb moment finally occurred. ' Sunday afternoon. That's when I got the dreaded curse. Because I remember thinking how cruel it was that I should suffer a hangover and my period to boot .

I then spent another 20 minutes or so counting and re-counting the days between then; Sunday the hangover of April and now; Tuesday the no-period of May. Before concluding that yes I'd been stood up this month. She was late. 4 days late to be exact. How very rude.

All other hints and suggestions aside, there is one sure-sign of ones membership to the Pregnancy Club that I believe is the most accurate indication of all. The almighty powers of the Woman's Intuition.

Some call it a sixth sense, others say it's strong instinct, I like the term, 'Psychic powers,' myself, but whatever you call it there's a pretty good chance you're going to find it somewhere within you one of these days.

You see when a life is formed, so too is a remarkable psychic ability that Mystic Meg herself would be envious of. We don't know how, we don't know why, but from the second that tiny-weeny heart begins to beat, we, the baby-growers, will suddenly begin to just know stuff.

It all begins with that little incline you have. That little sensation, bubbling away in the depths of your soul. The tiny ounce of suspicion. The fragment of je ne sais quoi. You don't know how, (well, hopefully you do!) you don't know why. But you do know you're pregnant.

There's a lot to be said for womens psychic powers, and I promise to tell you more on the matter later on in our journey, but for now, I highly recommend you hold onto the gift that you've hopefully just discovered. Cos it's gonna be sacred in the months (and years!) to come!

Missed signals?

If you've been actively trying to conceive for sometime now the chances are you'll be so intune with your body that not a single one of Mother Natures hints of conception will go unnoticed. On the contrary you might find yourself noticing and reading into everything. Though it seems so cruel, it isn't unusual for our ever-pleasing bodies to send us false signals of hope. Like the boyfriend you had in school. The one who was too gutless to finish with you himself, and so thinking he was doing you (and he) a favour, got his mate to dump you instead.

It seems when we want something so passionately, (a tiny baby, say) our bodies will fool us into believing our dreams are coming true even when they aren't (this month, at least.) Frankly it's just another shitty law of sod. And it doesn't work when we want other things in life, like bigger tits and a smaller waist, for example.

On the other hand, if you have been happily plodding along in your life, blissfully unaware of your sudden baby-growing talent, then Mother Natures signals might just go over your head completely. You might have an excuse for every little signal. Put on a few pounds? Yep that'll be the Chinese you ate for breakfast. Feeling sick? Yep that'll be the cream cheese and chocolate sarnies you had for dessert. Emotional? Who wouldn't be when they feel sick and have just realised they've put on about a stone?!

Still, a pregnancy test might not be a bad idea?

To pee or not to pee.

Whatever your situation there will probably come a time when you wish to either confirm or deny your suspicions with scientific evidence.

And because we all trust scientists, (after all they are clearly intelligent, they often wear glasses (which just makes us trust them all the more,) and they use such words as, 'Uranus' without even sniggering,) we leave it to the Scientists (or rather the EPT tests that they have invented for us) to reveal our fates.

And so we whizz (sorry, wrong word!) we 'rush' round to the supermarket (not the local one, cos odds are today will be the day you bump into your pervy former maths teacher, you panting, blushing furiously and clutching an array of rectangle boxes. Whilst he leers at your newly massive tits through your t-shirt.)

Dressed in inconspicuous, though slightly immature outfits, (like hoodies and such) and adorning celebrity-inspired over-sized sunglasses, we head down the, 'Women's Aisle.' past the incontinence pads and the jumbo tampons, until we reach the rows and rows of pregnancy tests. All-singing, all-dancing and all promising to be 99% accurate (as if 99% is enough right now.)

Some of us will no-doubt be sucked in by the subliminal messages that seep into our brains and convince us that we can't possibly buy the cheapest one, as that will, of course, produce the wrong result.

Oh-so-casually, (because we are grown-ups and this isn't embarrassing at all,) we fill our baskets with exotic fruits and veggies and stuff (things that we'll probably never eat) in a meek attempt to distract the sales assistant from noticing the test and then we proceed to the checkout before getting the hell out of there.

To be honest ladies there isn't a whole lot of difference between the tests, no matter how high they are priced. Having said that, unless you are a geometry fanatic I would advise against purchasing the ones with triangles and squares, spheres and other shapes to indicate the result. A simple line for, 'not pregnant' and two lines for, 'pregnant' is about as complicated as it should get. Better still choose the one that spells it out in English for you.

The truth is though is doesn't matter which you choose. The result will still be the same after you pee on the damn thing anyway.

If you have been trying to conceive for a while you're probably already a bit of a pro when it comes to pregnancy tests. In fact you might have been buying them as part of your weekly shopping lists? 'Bread, Milk, Cheese, Pee Stick . . .' - You could probably perform the entire test with your eyes closed? (Don't try though, that could be messy!) but for the benefit of those of you still recovering from the fact that you've just spent the best part of a tenner to piss on a piece of plastic I'll continue.

Right then. Pants off girls, we're going in.

Step 1. Read the instructions first. I'm not saying you should study them for hours, just skim-read enough to know what you're looking out for when the waiting is up.

Step 2. Make sure you actually need to 'go.' I know, I know pregnant women are always supposed to need the toilet right? Well not always. Actually I'm not that sure that pissing-on-demand is a talent anyone can master?

'I need a toilet,' we'd whine, squished in the backseat of the car on route to the sea side. 'You should have gone before we left!' said Mum. To which we'd frankly reply, 'I didn't need to go then!'

Well if you don't need to go now the chances are whatever amount you do manage to produce will squirt out in all directions, instead of gushing neatly down the pan. You will inevitably pee on your own hand, which is never a nice experience and you might not be able to catch enough piss to adequately test with you stick.

So have a drink first. (A cup of tea, in my opinion, works wonders in such situations, but more on that later.)

Step 3. Follow the instructions on the leaflet.

Step 4. Wait for the required amount of time whilst singing your favourite song to distract your thoughts. (Elton John numbers, complete with jazz hands and snappy fingers work well in my opinion.)

Step 5. Wash your hands, clean up a bit and then sit back on the toilet-seat. (Always helps to be sitting.)

Step 6. Steady yourself. And. Sing some more.

Step. 7. Take deep breaths

Step 8. One more verse perhaps?

Step. 9. Okay. Now you can look.

Well??? Can I get a drum-roll here please?

Congratulations!!!!

(I've concluded you're A. - Pregnant and B – happy with the result by combining my own personal psychic powers with the fact that you've chosen to read this book about pregnancy. - I hope I'm right?!)

So here we are. Still staring in disbelief at the test? It can take ages to sink in. But in the meantime if you watch closely you might just see your dignity fly out of the little window where your test results are. But don't worry, you won't miss it.

Right now I am prescribing chocolate and tea and a moment to yourself.

I'll be right here waiting when you're ready to go on. I promise.