A severe attack of pregnosis.

Still smiling... just... at 33 weeks!

The neighbours are restless tonight, AAAARGH! It’s just gone 11pm on a Sunday night and they are really going for it, guitars, bongos, about 20 people (or so it sounds from my bedroom, anyway) all… well, I think they probably think they are singing but from here it just sounds like a load of howling and yelling and whooping. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was decent music but so far its been uninspiring Oasis covers or just shouting and bongoing.

I suppose there was a time when I would have tolerated it, and maybe even a time before that when I would been round there and joining in… ummm, maybe… although to be honest I don’t think even when I was a student I was very hell-raising. I was always more into Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan than the rave/acid house that most of my friends were listening to at the time. And I never went to raves or warehouse parties, or took any drugs. God, what did I do with my time at uni, I hear you cry! Well… shock, horror… I studied. And I got a first class honours. That was my reward for being a good girl. Not that it has ever really done me much good – the only door it opened for me was to do a post-grad degree. Sometimes I wonder if I should have just taken the drugs and partied!

What with the wee boy who is now playing havoc in my tummy, and the tribe of income support warriors next door bongoing and war-whooping, how I will get any sleep tonight I don’t know… if they carry on into the early hours I think I am going to have a severe attack of pregnosis. I.e. I will go round there with some kind of lethal weapon and smash up any bongos I can lay my hands on, and I will blame my loss of self-control on the fact that I am eight months pregnant, which is as good an excuse for smashing bongos as I can think of right now.

This extraordinary thing we do, us women…

I feel very honoured to have been the first vistor to have met Clare and Saul’s baby boy! Saul texted this morning to ask if I could give him a lift up to the hospital because he thought he might still be a bit drunk (he’d been wetting the baby’s head I believe!) so took him up there and managed to get the midwives to let me in to see Clare out of visiting hours. She looked tired, but well. She had started getting sort of periody pains on Wednesday, but they weren’t contractions according to the monitors so no one was worried. Thursday she was getting them again, and Friday they started to get worse. She tried to hold on and not bother the nurses for a while, but after a while she asked Saul to go and find a midwife. The midwife again wasn’t too bothered, didn’t think it was anything to worry about. Clare’s pain got worse and again she asked Saul to get a midwife. This time when the midwife examined her it was panic stations! She was fully dilated and started getting the urge to push!

Instantly a horde of people descended to wheel her on the bed to the delivery suite, and when they got there there was a bed in the room already so they wanted her to move onto that one, but it was too late, the baby’s head was starting to crown by this time and the little fella was born in less than 10 minutes from when Clare started getting the urge to push! Wow. Quick quick time!

He weighs 2 lb 6 oz and is quite a vocal little guy! I went back in the afternoon during visiting hours and got to go and visit him in the NICU. I was so excited, but worried that I might just burst into tears or something daft. When I saw him, all tiny and delicate, and wires and tubes coming out of everywhere I did get this lump in my throat, but managed to not blub, thankfully. He is a tiny, beautiful little boy! I could have just sat and looked at him for hours. Clare changed his nappy while we were there for the first time. It was nerve-wracking, with all the beepers and buzzers and monitors, and alarms going off here there and everywhere. Is that normal? Is that supposed to happen? I kept asking, and then wishing I hadn’t. Clare and Saul were very calm, they seemed to take it all very much in their stride. They were calm and strong for their baby.

So amazing. A new little life. A new little boy. I am in awe of this extraordinary thing we do, us women. Oh, yeah. With a little help from you men, too, I suppose. But it’s us who do the extraordinary things, you have to admit. Carrying a little person in our tummies. Giving birth. Nurturing, caring, giving everything of ourselves to this little person. Feeding him with our bodies.

Mothers are amazing. Motherhood is an amazing thing. I am slowly starting to realise this. And I’m not even a mother yet! But soon, soon.

A new arrival!

Very quick post as it’s late, but just to report that Clare had her baby today, at 31 weeks! I’m very excited… it’s a boy! We were convinced she was having a girl because of how she was carrying. Just goes to show.

She texted me in the morning to say that they were keeping her in till Monday, then got a text in the evening from Saul to say that she’d had the baby at 7.29 – and did it all on two paracetamol! What a star! It must have been pretty damn quick.

Bit of a turnaround – she was due 2 weeks after me and has had the baby 2 months before me, almost! Well – that’s if Owen comes out on schedule. He may decide it’s too squished in there and make an early appearance, or he may decide it’s nice and warm and cosy so stay in a bit longer.

I need to buy a baby boy present tomorrow, now! Aww…  he’ll be a wee thing, 9 weeks premature!

Stand and deliver!

Parentcraft again today. Owen was a little terror the whole time - squirming around, pushing, kicking my ribs, pressing on my bladder – and still is now! I don’t know if this happens to all women in pregnancy, I presume it does, but my stomach is constantly moving! I think I must feel pretty much every movement he makes, even the little, deep down movements that might be just a nose twitch or a raised eyebrow. 

There were fewer blokes there today, so I didn’t feel quite so much of a sore thumb. The nice Scottish midwife talked about labour, contractions and pain. Epidurals, etc. Pain. More pain. She did at one point say, actually we aren’t supposed to talk about ‘pain’ nowadays… and then proceeded to talk lots more about it. We did ‘do’ some breathing, rather half-heartedly compared to the breathing exercises we do in yoga, and we also did some positions, again, not quite as comprehensively as we did at the Active Birth workshop, but the midwife did come out with the classic ‘and you can even stand and deliver if you want…’

I still have to decide whether to stay at mums and have the birth there, or come back here just so I can give birth in the midwife centre. The midwife I saw last time seemed to think the former was the best option. But it’s not her decision – it’s what I’m comfortable with. And I’m not sure, I can’t decide. I need to sit down and carefully weigh up both options. My main priority is to birth Owen safely – as safely as I can. He’s the most important thing in my life now, this little wee man in my tummy.

Standing, squatting, lying flat on my back or dangling from a chandelier, doesn’t matter at the end of the day, I just want to bring him into the world in the best way that I can.

Stresses and strains, aches and pains day

Clare, who is now 30 weeks pregnant - 2 weeks behind me – is in hospital. Her waters broke on Sunday, she phoned the hospital and after a bit of a Q&A session they asked her to go in, and confirmed that yes, her waters have broken. She could go into labour at any time! Clearly this would not be a good thing at this stage. I went to the hospital after work yesterday to see how she was doing. Everything was okay, and she seemed pretty calm and cheerful, considering – although of course she must have been pretty panicky when it happened. Saul was there too, I think he was pretty anxious although trying not to show it. I am so hoping that everything is okay for Clare. Her pregnancy has not been quite so straightforward as mine – she has had a few worrying test results and now this… I feel almost a bit bad that mine has been so easy, at least up to now… yup, I know, I’m tempting fate again.

So, what new adventures in third trimester? Hmm, well, today has been a ’stresses and strains, aches and pains’ day. This morning I had a mini-meltdown at work. I have been a bit worried the last few days about leaking waters as I’m always (TMI) damp down below. I know it’s a common thing in pregnancy and could either be excess vaginal fluid or leaking urine from pressure of the baby. But it’s been a lot more noticeable for last week. So what with Clare’s waters breaking, and a couple of similar things happening to women on the forum, I started to panic this morning. The worst thing was when I got in the car to drive to work, I thought I felt a rush of fluid and that started me off. Got to work and went to the toilet, I was quite damp but couldn’t tell if it was urine or something else. Paranoia set in, then reverse paranoia. Reverse paranoia is kind of when you stop yourself feeling paranoid but then convince yourself that ‘just because I know I’m being paranoid, doesn’t mean there is nothing wrong’. And to make matters worse, Owen chose this morning to have a little baby nap, for a change. I probably should have just phoned the midwife, but I didn’t do anything quite so straightforward as that. I burst into tears on my boss. Again. She is going to think I am just one great big sack of hormones.

Which I am, of course.

Actually, though, it was fine. After that I felt much better and Owen woke up and that perked me up, and I managed to have quite a good day all in all. But then this evening, I have been feeling crap for a new reason. I have a very heavy pressure on my nether bits. I am convinced that this is due to Owen changing position. I went for a swim after work, and immediately afterwards was when this weird pressure-pain started. I stood up off one of the stools in the changing room and felt suddenly as if everything was falling out! Straightening up and walking was very painful. Kind of shooting pains. I popped into the supermarket on my way home and it seemed to still be there, and even now I feel heavy underneath although not so much in pain. Owen has been moving as normal, so I’m not too worried about him, but I am worried that this heaviness might be related to the leakiness. I felt so stressed about this that I had another crying attack in the car when I came out of the supermarket.

This is my paranoid reasoning: my waters have been leaking over a week or so. I went swimming today and whilst swimming, lost more amniotic fluid. After leaving the pool, I suddenly notice that the baby feels very heavy on my pelvic floor – this is because I have now lost so much amniotic fluid that Owen cannot float anymore and is resting on the pelvic floor. I think I am going crazy – it sounds so damn plausible! I think maybe I should call the midwife tomorrow and see what she says. It’s probably a better plan than freaking my work colleagues out again by bursting into tears on them again…

The Contortionist

Ouch ouch ouch. Owen has really got it in for me today! I feel black and blue on the inside. Very vigorous twisting and turning going on, with the occasional elbow dig, or kick. He also seems to be pushing out on both sides again – does this mean he’s gone back to his favoured transverse position? That’s not so good…

Have felt very heavy, sore and generally rubbish today. Fell over whilst waddling up the stairs trying to carry tea and porridge up to my room and got tea everywhere – luckily didn’t hurt bump (or spill porridge) though! Swore mightily. Through the course of the day dropped ten million things, and accidentally hurled a bottle of worcester sauce across the kitchen floor, mopped it up then slipped on the wet floor… every clumsy, stupid thing I could have done, I did. My teeth hurt, too – I’ve been grinding them I think. They feel sort of sore and uncomfortable.

Enough whinging. So, what’s new today? Not much really. Snowed a little last night, but it didn’t settle. I woke up feeling sore and a bit grumpy. Split tea. Edited manuscripts all day, managed to resist too much googling of pregnancy issues. Although, having said that, I have become obsessed with finding pictures of 8 week premature babies – I’m completely fascinated. Owen looks like that! He actually looks more like a little newborn, and not like a foetus! So amazing to think that if he did decide to pop out early, he would probably be fine now. Reassuring in a way, scary in another!

He’s still at it, even now! Now he’s decided to push his bum (or head, but hopefully bum because it’s high up) really hard outwards! At regular intervals! He can’t have slept all day – and he’s definitely changed position. I’m going to start calling him the Contortionist! I know I complain about it, but actually it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling whenever he decides to make his prescence felt!

Google: a gateway to paranoia and sleepless nights…

Slimming stripes?

Ouch. I just weighed myself. 11 stone, 1lb. That is officially my heaviest weight EVER! That means I’ve gained 2 stone 3lbs approximately since pre-Owen. And I’ve still got 8 weeks of weight gain to go! I’m going to be in danger of hitting the 12 stone mark at this rate. And I’m already having quite a job dragging myself around with all the extra weight! Getting up from lying down is a real effort and getting in and out of the bath is a complete nightmare.

Today was the dreaded Active Birth class. When we turned up it was already packed with couples, all who seemed to know each other already. Felt a bit nervous but it was actually okay. The teacher was really good, and it wasn’t too excruciatingly hippified – it was actually very down to earth and useful. We did massage, breathing techniques, positions, a bit of reproductive biology stuff – hormones and all that, and even a doll and plastic pelvis! Although the doll wasn’t quite so jaundiced and dead-looking as the one at the Parentcraft class on Wednesday, thankfully. That was just too depressing.

I’ve been trying to get some work done this afternoon, but the sodding internet keeps distracting me. I have managed to complete exactly 1/8 of the work I have to do this weekend, leaving me tomorrow to do the other 7/8. Which is really quite crap, and also quite depressing. I could have had a lovely lazy Sunday, and instead I will be slaving over a hot keyboard. My own fault – but to be honest I’ve lost all motivation for work. I am baby-driven. I would much rather coo over pictures of newborns than craft educational materials for the next generation. Let someone else do that – I am busy CREATING the next generation in my tummy!

PS. I am slightly worried about amniotic fluid (again) today. Apparently it is possible to have a slow leak, which could lead to an infection, which obviously would be very bad news for Owen. Why am I paranoid about this? Well, for not much better reason than because I’m a worrier. But on the upside, knowing myself as I do, I will worry myself sick about it tonight, then forget about it, and find something else even more pointless to worry about tomorrow. Google is an open and enticing gateway to a world of paranoia and sleepless nights…

Squatting and grunting class

32 weeks tomorrow! Eight weeks till B-day! Eek. Scary stuff…

I’m quite tired, so very quickly will recount the day’s adventures in pregnancy. Nothing much to report really. I woke in what I thought was a reasonable mood, made it to work where I became rather stroppy and had a sudden wobble that sent me running to the toilet and boo-hooing for ten minutes on the loo. I hate it when I do this AFTER I’ve put makeup on, since of course then I end up with panda eyes as well as red blotches.

Of course it’s hormonal, I am fully aware of this, and I can sit and recite ‘It’s the hormones, it’s the hormones’ to myself and still end up hopelessly sobbing as if the world were about to end. My mind has this great trick that it plays, too – as soon as it senses imminent tears, it drags up sad memories out of nowhere, sad images, sad poems or songs, sad anythings just to add to the mix, to ensure that I won’t remain dry-eyed. It’s a very naughty trick that works every time.

Anyway, I did eventually come out of the toilet and march grumpily back to my desk. Work colleagues all looked quite relieved when I walked back in. Apparently they thought I may have been giving birth in the loo. So, if they thought that, why didn’t any of them come to check and see if I actually was giving birth? I get the idea that they think when my time comes I will just creep off to a quiet corner or a cardboard box and give birth like a cat. I quite like that idea, actually – although the nasty work toilet is not really my ideal birth grotto.

Had a haircut at lunchtime. Stephano, who I mistakenly called Antonio. How mortifying. Now I feel a new woman! I should get my toenails sorted, they are like talons at the moment. In fact, any part of my body below waist level really could do with a good sorting out. I shan’t go into details.

I am a little apprehensive about the active birth workshop tomorrow. Jo is coming with me, but I am still apprehensive. I don’t know quite what to expect. Parentcraft was all about jaundiced dolls and plastic pelvises. This will be more like a squatting and grunting class, I imagine. I don’t know which is preferable, really!

The Dreaded Parentcraft Class…

I think Owen is finding it a little cramped in there right now. He’s been REALLY active the last couple of days. Not so much kicking but twisting and flexing loads, my tummy looks like a funny little alien is doing a dance in there. First one side sticks out, then the other, and ripples go across it from side to side, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. It makes me giggle. He’s doing it right this minute, and I have to keep stopping to watch. It’s absolutely fascinating. He responds, too, when I rub or stroke him sometimes, with vigorous flexes. I read him two poems tonight, from Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. We are now up to Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer. He sort of goes quiet when I read to him, he stops all the frantic flexing and twisting, I don’t know if that means it calms him down or if he’s just bored stiff!

Had midwife appointment yesterday, which went well. I have a new midwife, apparently they are so busy that they had to get another one in. She seems nice, a little more clinical and less chatty and warm than the other lady but still nice. She did the usual palpating, which was a bit more uncomfortable than usual, and she said that he’s a ‘good size’ and position-wise he is head down, kind of on my left side, facing right. He’s practically perfect, then! One slight downer – one of the blood tests showed a low platelet count, but it’s nothing much to worry about - actually I’ve had a false platelet reading before, so I’m not too worried about that. Something to do with the platelets clumping together to give a false low reading. Blood pressure good, urine test good. Medically, we are virtually textbook at the moment (says she with all fingers and toes crossed!!)

Today was my first dreaded Parentcraft class. As I expected, lots of couples. Two women with their mums – one actually looked very young, nineteen or twenty maybe. Two of us on our own. So four altogether without partners. I really was dreading it, and actually had a moment before the class when I started feeling a bit tearful and didn’t want to go at all. But it was really okay. The midwife was jolly and Scottish, she produced large, lurid, laminated drawings of babies hovering inside pelvises in various positions, and a rather jaundiced-looking doll and a plastic pelvis. There was orange squash and biscuits. I knew most of what she talked about, having read every book on the planet that even mentions childbirth… but it was good to get it from the horse’s mouth.

So we draw nearer and nearer and nearer… every day brings the big day closer, and Owen is feeling it too I think!

Stuff. And Clutter.

Busy weekend, hence no blog. Mum and John came to visit, and to cart off some of my Stuff. We managed to fill John’s ridiculously large Volvo full of Stuff, but when I look round my room it seems as jammed full of Stuff as ever.

It is amazing how much Stuff I own. In the last few years I have moved from a three-bedroomed farmhouse to a two-bedroomed townhouse, to one small room in a friend’s house. I have eagerly acquired, and just as eagerly discarded, numerous cat-scratched sofas; half-alive, radioactively-challenged fridges; cheap, wonky Ikea furniture; motheatean futons; unidentifiable labour-saving kitchen appliances and useless bric-a-brac. I thought I had whittled my Stuff down to the bare minimum when I moved in here, in preparation for my world trip. But I have managed to build up yet another fine Stuff collection in the year or so that I’ve been here (I can’t believe I have been here over a year now!!)

It’s equally amazing how little Stuff I actually need. Most of my clothes have gone, now. Okay, so most of my clothes don’t fit me right now, but actually there are probably only about ten items of clothing that I wear day in day out. The rest I could throw away and not miss. I own ridiculous amounts of books, 90% of which I probably shall never read again (But its almost like blasphemy, to throw away books!) Other Stuff, Stuff I keep for no other reason than I think maybe one day I will use it. In the meantime, it sits around taking up space. When Stuff has sat around being useless for over six months or so, it ceases to be simply Stuff, and becomes a more insidious and threatening force for evil – Clutter.

I seem to have taken up this entire blog entry with Stuff. And I was only going to mention it in relation to the fact that mum and Jim took a load away with them. So actually I am decluttering. By Christmas, I hope that we will have managed to move most of my Stuff, and when I come back after Christmas my room will be a peaceful, Clutter-free zone where I can centre myself and prepare myself for when the little person living in my tummy comes out to meet me for the very first time! (Bless his teeny heart - he’s got hiccups at the moment!).