Barren Mare

Mile 9

And so off I waddle, into the long sunset of maternity leave. Actually, having departed work over a week ago, I don't seem to have put my feet up much at all since then. There is a long list, you see, of Things Needing Done before I can relax- which seems largely comprised of doing stuff like vast amounts of recycling and charity shop donatation of reams of crap, accumulated in this flat over the last couple of years. Who knew, for example, that we had so much mismatched tupperware in the cupboard? So many mateless black socks? Out it all goes, with a brutal ruthlessness- and yet immediately something else seems to spawn in its place.

Meanwhile, I am coming up for 37 weeks. The pregnancy insomnia has ramped up a level- as if I would have thought that humanly possible. I suspect part of the problem is that my sleep cycle is now disturbed to the point of needing a sharp realignment to get back on track. But at the moment, it's not unusual to go to bed around 11pm, wake up at 1.30am and still be up at 6am. Kicked relentlessly, part of the night finds me mindlessly pacing the floor of the bedroom, or sitting in the dark on the spacehopper. I should really do something worthy with the time- read or knit or write pithy comments on blogs but the best I can muster is playing endless rounds of solitaire on my iphone. I remember doing exactly the same when waiting for Botany, albeit on a rather noisier computer.

Knox- who still has to get up first thing for work- has long since decamped at night to the baby's room, where we have managed to shoehorn our spare foldup bed between the wall, the cot and the wardrobe for the time being. It's dark and cosy and there is no one thrashing around like a discontented walrus to disturb him.

And, in other news, there is now a password protected post up here:

http://barrenmare.typepad.com/bandersnatch

 

 

Doldrums

Still alive, kind readers. All my grand plans for writing a nice long catching up post over the weekend were foiled by a tummy bug. At least I think that's what it was. Basically, it felt as if I needed to have the world's most massive expulsion of wind (by one means or another)- and could not. Coupled with vomiting, heartburn, a low grade fever and dizzy spells. Meanwhile, Caveat decided to shift into a position that felt as if he was doing handstands on my bowels. All in all, not the best of times. I drank about a gallon of water and spent several hours on my hands and knees with bottom raised in a most undignified position, and that finally helped a bit. I'm feeling much better today and recently ate something for the first time in over 24 hours.

The good news is that I am heading into my last week at work. I was planning to work up until the end of week 36 but then discovered quite by accident that I am entitled to what amounts to another week of paid annual leave. As things stand, I was already carrying over four weeks of leave into next year and so I don't feel too guilty about scooting off a tiny bit earlier than anticipated. It should hopefully free up some of my time and energy. There is Christmas to prepare for, amongst other things and I am not too sure how much longer I am going to fit behind the steering wheel of my car.

Caveat remains head down, not yet engaged. The GP thinks he is still back to back- and certainly he is fondest of kicking that one spot on my right hand side under my ribs. I managed to unearth my old gym ball from the dark dustiness under the bed but realised it's probably not big enough to really fit the bill as far as correctly positioning my knees below hips. Happily, a few days later I found this giant retro space hopper in a local charity shop for a couple of quid. I look like a pillock sitting on it- but it's very comfy and it has the side benefit that we'll be able to bound around the garden on it in the spring.