Well, here I am at 37 weeks + 1 day. I can’t believe it’s almost all over! I can’t tell you how many sentences in our house start with, “This time next month…” It’s all very exciting.
I think I am about 90% ready. I’ve packed my bag for the hospital! I went and treated myself to a few new pairs of pyjamas, and I’m sure it goes without saying that there was boundless amounts of joy and satisfaction to be had from filling up my overnight bag with teeny-weeny toiletries that I might need while I’m in hospital. Teeny-weeny shampoo! Teeny-weeny shower gel! Teeny-weeny deodorant, even! Bliss. I scored a bargain maternity bra off eBay today so as soon as that arrives I will officially be zipping the suitcase up. Hurrah!
Generally I’m feeling mostly okay, if I had to give you an update. That is to say, I’m not ILL or anything, but man: am I fed up. Here is my fed up checklist, for your reading pleasure:
Fred Flintstone Feet
I’m officially retaining water. This distresses me; I’m not exactly renowned for my dainty feet or anything... I know, I know... let’s get some perspective – I’m not a SHOE MODEL whose livelihood is under threat because of pregnancy-related ankle swelling but still! This is doubly bleak because not only do I look like I’ve just done a hundred miles in that car with rocks for wheels, I can’t actually reach my feet at this point to make them look a little better by painting my toenails or going at them with a pumice stone or my “Ped Egg”. AND... my toe rings are only still on because I can’t actually get them off. Sexy. You know, the other day I actually took a picture of my feet but as I type this I wonder if it’s reasonable to post it here. Some of the people reading this blog are amongst those I actually like!
Wonky Pelvis Bone
This has escalated to Defcon 2 in the past week. Rolling over in bed at night is particularly troublesome. Poor Jason... the guy can’t get a solid night’s kip these days. Because for some reason I feel compelled to give him a Running Commentary of Night-time Discomfort as I complete the rolling over manoeuvre:
I think I am about 90% ready. I’ve packed my bag for the hospital! I went and treated myself to a few new pairs of pyjamas, and I’m sure it goes without saying that there was boundless amounts of joy and satisfaction to be had from filling up my overnight bag with teeny-weeny toiletries that I might need while I’m in hospital. Teeny-weeny shampoo! Teeny-weeny shower gel! Teeny-weeny deodorant, even! Bliss. I scored a bargain maternity bra off eBay today so as soon as that arrives I will officially be zipping the suitcase up. Hurrah!
Generally I’m feeling mostly okay, if I had to give you an update. That is to say, I’m not ILL or anything, but man: am I fed up. Here is my fed up checklist, for your reading pleasure:
Fred Flintstone Feet
I’m officially retaining water. This distresses me; I’m not exactly renowned for my dainty feet or anything... I know, I know... let’s get some perspective – I’m not a SHOE MODEL whose livelihood is under threat because of pregnancy-related ankle swelling but still! This is doubly bleak because not only do I look like I’ve just done a hundred miles in that car with rocks for wheels, I can’t actually reach my feet at this point to make them look a little better by painting my toenails or going at them with a pumice stone or my “Ped Egg”. AND... my toe rings are only still on because I can’t actually get them off. Sexy. You know, the other day I actually took a picture of my feet but as I type this I wonder if it’s reasonable to post it here. Some of the people reading this blog are amongst those I actually like!
Wonky Pelvis Bone
This has escalated to Defcon 2 in the past week. Rolling over in bed at night is particularly troublesome. Poor Jason... the guy can’t get a solid night’s kip these days. Because for some reason I feel compelled to give him a Running Commentary of Night-time Discomfort as I complete the rolling over manoeuvre:
I always start by tapping him on the shoulder, as if he needs some official advance notification of what’s about to happen.
“OW OW OW OKAY I need to roll over.” (grunt)
“If I could just... get this leg... a little more towards the... (groan) window!”
“Just need a pillow between my knees... higher, higher, yes okay! There! There! There!”
“....and... rolling! Almost there, almost there... almosttherealmosttherealmostthere!”
Then comes at least a full minute and a half (minimum) of dramatic sighing, exclamations about the level of difficulty of this rollover as compared to the last one, etc. I’m so unreasonable. I know. It’s terrible. Jason is a saint; all he does is sympathise and cuddle and placate me with "don't worry's" and "it'll all be over soon's" and "But you're having our baby; that's a wonderful thing's". The man deserves a knighthood for services to pregnancy. All I am doing is complaining and he's borne it all like water off a duck's back. Love the lovely Jason.
In happier news... I had my little ‘leaving do’ from work last week. It was really lovely; we all went to this nice Italian place last Thursday lunchtime and had a nice leisurely lunch. I got some fantastic presents from my team, including – wait for it – a gift certificate for a pedicure at the spa! I almost wept with gratitude. At least there will be one part of me that will look pretty in the stirrups!
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