Barren Mare

Possetting and other delights

It always gives me a small chuckle to see which parts of a post seem to excite the most commentary.  Disposable knickers- who knew?  Truth be told, I hadn't really thought past rigorously following the lists of "What to Pack in the Hospital Bag" (to be found on various websites and in books about, ah, what to expect). So it hadn't really dawned on me that normal knickknacks (though crummy old ones, possibly in the granny pant style) could also suffice.  But then I realised that, in any event, my box of "older undies" is somewhere in the loft, amongst the pre-pregnancy clothing- where it will have to stay until I eventually get a chance to sort through things properly.  I anticipate getting to that chore in, say, four or five years time.  So disposables it is. And my word, having opened the pack for a little sneak preview, they are hideous.

Oh, and someone mentioned the muslin cloths and queried the uses thereof. I guess it may be a UK thing, but everyone here is nigh on obsessed with muslin.  Forget about worrying if you have the right pram, crib or nursing bra- it's woe betide you if you haven't laid in a supply of about 4,000 muslin cloths.  As if, OH MY GOD, honey!  Make sure you stop en route to the hospital at the Baby-o-rama store, because I am not sure we have sufficient provision of muslins. 

Yes, but what are they for, you may be asking? Well, everything, apparently.  Bibs, draping around self during feeding, cleaning up spills, possetting.  Etc. D'you know, by way of demonstrating my total ignorance of the practicalities of dealing with an actual baby, I had never heard the word "possetting" before a couple of weeks ago?  I still think it sounds like a dessert item. As in, "I'd like the apple crumble with some possetting on the side, please." 

In other news, the cot bed arrived today and I had an amusing two hours putting it together. It wasn't actually that difficult to do, but there is something about assembling a piece of furniture which is intended to house an infant- it demands a certain amount of attention to detail.  Unlike my usual laissez-faire attitude to those little IKEA projects (la, la, la, so what if there is an extra screw or bracket or three- or else not enough?), I must have checked the cot over about four hundred times to be sure that nothing would come apart/topple over/snag the wee one's clothes or limbs and so on. But it's solid, looks delicious, and I only swore like a salty pirate four or five times in the process (cover your ears, Botany.) 

Anyway, it's quarter past two in the morning, and of course, I'm awake, as usual.  I think I may dust the skirting boards and the underside of the television with a spare muslin for half an hour or so, and see if I can perhaps finally fall asleep before dawn.

Botany babe

After a week during which both E. and I worked like Trojans (including an epic 6 hour shopping trip to that abyss of doom, I*K*EA)- the house has finally started coming together.  Or at least so I am no longer going to feel the need to be unpacking boxes at 2am.  We have curtains. We have carpets. I have the all important muslin cloths and disposable underwear (mmm, lovely). I am feeling, if not exactly prepared, then at least as if it won't be complete chaos if I suddenly do go into labour. 

And this is all good, considering that the word from my GP during my last appointment was that from now on, the baby could come "anytime."  Eh?  Eh?  Excuse me, I have at least three more weeks. Right?  Right?  Erm, apparently possibly not. Huh. I guess it makes sense in some ways- if this baby is anything like me, she will be at the airport check-in with her bags neatly packed 4 hours early. 

Of course, if she is anything like her father, she will be 2 weeks late, turned around the wrong way and unable to find the exit.

Because we are expecting a girl, and have been sharing that information with anyone who happens to ask, the next question on people's lips is whether we have a name yet. The answer is, yes, and quite a definite decision on that. Someone the other day expressed considerable surprise that a name was so fixed- to which I say that given that I've had nearly four years to think about what we would call our offspring, it's fair to say it's not exactly a rushed choice.

For the purposes of bloggage, I suppose I won't really be able to continue calling the little stranger the Apocryphetus much longer, so it's time to saddle up an appropriately silly pseudonym-since much as I love you all, if E., and I ( not to mention the dog!) get to be anonymous, then I think the baby should be no different. But while I won't reveal the actual moniker, I will tell you that it is the name of a tree, flower, plant or fruit.  So dispensing with the horse metaphor for a change, let's just call her...Botany. 

Um, what else?  A couple of people have requested pictures of the bump-unfortunately, I feel inclined to decline on that one, for reasons which I hope you will understand. You see, in my experience, when I was still in the trenches, while I often quite enjoyed reading the pregnancy adventures of previously infertile fellow bloggers, seeing any pictures of the actual bumpage could often seem just a tad too much to witness.  So I always promised myself if I was ever in the fortunate position of having a bump of my own, I was going to keep it under wraps, and I've decided to adhere to that.

I will however tell you that you can see a pretty good example near to what I currently look like (minus the  blond hair) is here. I guess we're roughly the same build. Scary, no?  I wonder if her ankles are as swollen as mine.  Probably not- no swollen appendages in Hollywood.   

Rock a bye baby

Ouch. Ouuuuuch. I think I may have overdone it a little bit with the unpacking.  I now have a unshakeable shooting pain in my right hip/backside, which I suspect is sciatic nerve related. It hurts like billy-o to walk, sit or turn over in bed- and I am reduced to hobbling from room to room and up and down the stairs.  Yesterday I was blanching with pain in the DIY store as we wandered about inspecting the various curtain poles.  Crawling home, I lay for an hour on the sofa with a hot water bottle pressed to my posterior.  The dog decided to help by curling up next to me as well- rather sweet, except he kept farting, which was disgusto and amusing by turns.

I'm a dumbass, with only myself to blame- being overzealous in my efforts to get this place into order has obviously meant my body giving a large traffic ticket, forcing me over into the slow lane. So be it.

On a happier note, having managed to get the bulk of the house in semi-livable condition, it frees me up to embark on a much more pleasurable pastime- baby shopping.  AT LAST. 

Now, I realise this is a topic that people seem to either love or hate- there are those who take giddy delight in the details of someone else's purchases, and others who become irritated at having to hear all about the procurement of what they consider expensive, frivolous items.  If you fall into the latter category, I suggest you may want to look away now.  Personally, I love a bit of shopping and I've waited over four years to have the enjoyment of kitting out a nursery, so now that it's finally happening, I am going to burble over a little and share.

I should add that I have not completely hog wild, since there has been an alarming hemorrhage of money related to the house move in general.  What I have done is splurged on a few pieces and economised on others- for example, I've gotten virtually all the clothes off eBay, mostly in bargain bundles. I figure that babies grow so quickly that it was sensible not to spend too much on little outfits, cute as they may be. I've also made do with various bits of furniture that we already own- so for example, the cabinet/storage thing from the study is going to work nicely as a chest of drawers/changing unit. 

On the other hand, I went ahead and got this- the Leander hanging cradle. Yum yum yummy.

I realise it's ultimately not the most practical or necessary thing in the world, but it really is soooo beautiful. I rationalised it by reading reviews that suggest it will last longer than a moses basket or similar, plus was all made from nice organic materials and so forth. And I had to get the wigwammy tripod thing because the walls here ( and thus probably the ceiling) are paper thin and there was no way I was going to trust a ceiling hook. But it also means that I can move it around the house (in theory anyway- once screwed into place, the tripod legs are a wee bit of a ffooter to shift).  Let's just hope the baby doesn't have an aversion to gentle swaying motion or else I'll probably end up selling it on eB*y.

Of course once I'd seen the fabulousity of the cradle, I was consumed by drooling yearning for the cot bed as well.

 

So after considerable swithering, I ordered it and am eagerly awaiting its arrival. The slightly lipbiting price is justifiable on the basis that it converts to a toddler bed and so we should hopefully get some use out of it for a number of years.  Or at least that is what I am telling myself when the credit card bill arrives.

Nesting amongst the cardboard boxes

On Monday, the big moving van arrived, opened its cavernous maw and regurgitated about a gazillion boxes into the new house.

While I'm happy that all of our "stuff" has now arrived, this has had the effect of sending me into hyperdrive nesting mode.  I can't stand disorder and chaos at the best of times but now? Now I am in an absolute frenzy to be unpacked and settled. I know, logically, it does not all have to be done before the baby comes, particuarly as there is nothing which is even that important in these containers. But I cannot seem to override the deep primal urge welling up in me to get a move on.

Unfortunately, E. who still has to go to a stressful job all day, is slightly less enthusiastic than the idea of coming home in the evening to hoick huge boxes and furniture around. So consequently we haven't quite fully decanted  ourselves from the rented flat, and so have yet to even spend the night here. I've been promised we'll be in properly by the weekend, but as the days drag on, I am becoming incredibly grumpy and indeed, somewhat shrill. I spend the day happily pottering around unpacking things and arranging as best I can, but then I have to lock up my lovely new house and go back to an increasingly stark rental. 

To make matters even more frustrating, I have finally tipped over from happy glowing pregnant woman with cute round bump to....hippo girl.  I am suddenly HUGE- and with the advent of relatively warm weather, puffy.  My ankles are beginning to swell and there is a nagging ache in my right hip. So I have no choice but to slow right down, hobbled as I am.

Oh, and speaking of hippopotami, I found the bathroom scales in one of the boxes and couldn't resist checking my weight.  Oh my gooooood. Remember the old "no fat on you" comment from one of my trips to the ultrasound clinic?  Yeah. Well. Not so much anymore. I have put on about 40lbs, most of which I believe to be chocolate brioche.   

However, on the bright side, as of today, we have a phone.  Let there be cavorting with joy.  Cavort, ye.  Turns out the mythical ducting wasn't needed after all (quelle surprise) and it was simply a matter of turning it on at the exchange.  AS I SUGGESTED TO THEM A MONTH AGO.  Oh well. Now I just have to get the internet provider to get their thumb out of their ass and give us broadband. We are getting there- just slowly, slowly, slowly.

A pain in the ass

Of late, there are two things with which I seem to have particularly bad luck. One is the phone company and the other is student midwives.   

The phone company.  Ahhhhhh. * Insert long-suffering sigh here*. No, we're still not connected. I ordered the line to be installed literally the day after we got the keys. Despite the promises on the website that it would take 7-10 days, I was given a date three weeks later for an engineer to come out. Then, the day before said date, they called to say that there was a problem- something to do with there not being enough ducting or lines laid in the development, and the need for more before the connection could take place. More ducting required!  Bring on the ducting!

Of course, the developer denies all knowledge of any of this.  They say there is ducting aplenty, and indeed, given the number of houses, it does seem slightly odd that they would have overlooked a little thing like the wires needed to connect basic services.  But who knows.  Ducting!  Ducting!

Apparently there are engineers working away- as we speak!- to resolve the probem- or at least according to the phone company. However, it looks pretty quiet out there to me.

So no phone and no date for when we will have things up & running.  Fortunately, our mobile phones sort of work in the house (whereas they don't work at all in the rental flat) but only as long as I stand on one leg in a lotus posture on Tuesday in one particular corner of the kitchen or bedroom.  At the rate we are going, E. or I I will have to go outside and down the road to call the hospital to tell them I am in labour, a prospect I do not exactly relish.

And then there are the student midwives. The first time I suffered a needle-related mishap at their hands was at the old clinic. The student managed to take my blood pressure competently enough, but she gave my arm a pretty good mauling during the blood draw that followed. Now, I've become fairly relaxed about having blood taken, and I've actually had worse done to me in the past so I wasn't inclined to make a fuss, although it left an unsightly bruise.  But when I went to the new clinc yesterday for my 34 week check, and saw the fresh faced student attending alongside the midwife, my heart sank a little.

Surely, I thought, they need to learn somehow, and I am nothing if not accommodating. Unfortunately, this was the appointment at which I had to have my second "Anti-D" jag (as the Rhesus negative injection is known here).  Up until now I had secretly congratulated myself that I had evaded the horrors of backside intramusclar shots endured by others in the course of IVF.  But due to my O-neg blood type, obviously it is my karmic doom to have at least three such encounters- two preventative shots before the birth and one after.

Up I hopped onto the table, with the promise of "nice things" like hearing the heartbeat afterward.  Then I heard the midwife talking the student through the preparation of the injection, and inwardly, I cringed.  And indeed, it was not long until I was outwardly cringing as well, because DAMN! if the student didn't drive that needle right into my nerve. Aieee! The only upside was that in the squeaky aftermath, the very competent midwife took over herself and take two went much more smoothly.

There was then a whole fandango where the student couldn't find the baby's heartbeat as I lay on my back like a beached whale- causing me a moment of unnecessary panic although I was pretty sure it was down to her inexperience rather than a problem, and lo! I was right.  The small pony was galloping away at 142 beats per minute, thank you very much.

It's pretty much inevitable there will be a student midwife on hand during the birth (unless for some reason I do not pass go and head directly to C-section), and I'm fine with that- but given the track record, on the provisio that they aren't allowed anywhere near me with a needle.

Anyway, all seems more or less well in babyland- she's head down, although I've been told she's currently in the occipitoposterior postion- that is, her back to my back, and so the hope is she'll turn around in good time. Otherwise it could all get a bit interesting.  In the meantime, renewed efforts to sleep on the left side and watch telly on all fours.