Said another: “I had one glass of high-quality red wine on the weekend, mainly so I wouldn’t go mad.”Īnother quoted a very eminent Irish gynaecologist, who noted that “one gin and tonic a day” was fine, as it acted as a de-stresser. “If anything went wrong with the baby, I’d only blame myself.” Solicit advice from other mums, and you’re likely to come up against a number of wildly varying opinions. For some reason, the world loves nothing more than to monitor women’s behaviour in pregnancy. There’s also something vaguely paternalistic about the conversation around alcohol and pregnancy, as is very often the case with expectant mums and their lifestyle choices. What’s my birth plan? Simple: get out with me and baby alive.'The baby cries now and you don’t even cry along with her.Seriously, you expect me to wear one of those Baby on Board badges?.It is believed that 80 per cent of women in Ireland and the UK drink some alcohol during their pregnancy, whether or not to drink alcohol during pregnancy has become a massively contentious hot potato. He also notes that fetal alcohol syndrome – a condition that causes developmental problems and deformities for some children exposed to alcohol in the womb – is typically associated with women who drink heavily throughout their pregnancy. If it doesn’t, there tends to not be any effect with an ongoing pregnancy.” “It either tends to cause a miscarriage then and there. “It tends to have all or nothing effect,” he is quoted as saying in the Daily Telegraph. According to Pat O’Brien, a spokesperson for the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists in the UK, alcohol consumption in those very first few weeks carries little to no risk. Yet, many women will drink in the very early stages of pregnancy, often without knowing they are expecting. The weekend in London, where I spent the day meeting separate strands of friends for drinks. The day of the royal wedding, where I spent noon until night riotously sloshed on Pimm’s and Prosecco at a friend’s house. There were the few celebratory whiskies on the night of the Eighth Amendment referendum. Be among my own people and all that.īut thoughts soon turned to the window of time in between becoming pregnant and actually knowing I was pregnant. I fled to my room and sulked while I watched The Handmaid’s Tale. By day three, I had snapped during a cocktail-making class. Reader, it was the longest four-day junket of my life. And so I switched to juice and watched avariciously as everyone else chose their own bottle of red wine for dinner. My first taste of something vaguely maternal. A small wave of protectiveness bubbled inside me. Having to think of someone other than myself, maybe. A sort of deep down, primal feeling came out of nowhere. And then something very unusual happened. I held the champagne glass to my face, letting the bubbles tickle my nose. It’s totally conceivable that I might have found out I was pregnant after the trip, and what would a couple of days make in the scheme of things? Everyone else sat back, guzzled away and settled down to a binge of Big Little Lies, but I found myself at a whole new fork in the road. Once I got to my aircraft seat, I was immediately handed a glass of champagne. This was the sort of trip where drinks are proffered regularly: it being Vegas, drinking was pretty much scheduled on the half-hour. These trips happen around once a year besides, I take them as a sort of cosmic payback for short deadlines and even shorter Twitter trolls). Two days after I found out I was pregnant, I was sent on an all-expenses press trip to Las Vegas (I’m not even remotely ashamed at this humongous brag-bomb, by the way.
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