29 weeks

I’m not really feeling 29 weeks. When you’re 30 weeks, you can mentally say, “I’m three quarters of the way there, LET’S DO THIS BITCHEZZ”. Well, you could if you were one of those people who could get away with saying things like ‘bitchezz’, which I can’t. So yeah. Almost there, but not quite. Ask me again next week.

This week, I promised witty commentary and lovely photos, didn’t I? Well, I put a banana on the cat and took a photo, does that count?

Banana Cat

Neil’s parents came down for the weekend this week, armed with a car full of garden equipment and wellyboots. We took them to our local Turkish cafe, for a quick stomp around Wollaton Park (my ideas about what constitutes ‘quick’ is now considerably slower than everyone else’s), and to our local pub for Thai food. Neil’s mum completely gutted our garden in a matter of hours whilst we watched, guiltily from the warmth of the office, giving the occasional wave. The woman is like a MACHINE.

I also had my whooping cough jab this week. I’m not sure whether the needles are getting smaller or I’m getting braver (I’m going with the latter), but this jab was easy peasy. My elbow-crevice bruise from last week’s blood test has, however, turned a delightful shade of green.

So what else did I get up to this week? Well, Neil disappeared off into a cloud of fog to Bologna, and at one point, with delayed flights, missed connections and lost luggage, I did suspect I would never see him again. I would say that Neil being away gave me a good opportunity to showcase my independant wimmin skills, but then I remembered that my mum had me round for tea and then helped me ‘fix’ (empty) the dishwasher, so 0/10 for effort for me. I did successfully make porridge, catch buses, keep pets alive and not burn the house down, so I’m going to chalk that up as an overall win.

I also managed to find a pregnancy symptom that no-one else has ever had, ever. Google says so. Now, I’ve come to understand that googling the words ‘pregnancy’ followed by your latest moan is bound to bring up thousands upon thousands of results for other people who have exactly the same symptoms as you. Seriously. Try it. Last week, my arms felt so weak it hurt to lift them. Almost 6 million results. But this week, I out symptom-ed Google.

Warning: TMI-alert coming up. So much so, I wrote it, deleted it, then wrote it again. Once I put this blog live, I might even go back and delete the paragraph again. It’s that gross.

Whilst Neil was away, I began to notice that mid-morning, I was doing burps. Lots of burps. Pretty normal you say, acid reflux, indigestion and all. No biggy. But these burps. They were exactly like the smell of pencil sharpenings, so much so, I began to wonder whether I’d absent mindedly been chomping on the odd pencil (don’t laugh, Pica is a real thing). So, to cut a gross story short, I shared news of my interesting burp with my husband in Italy via the powerful medium of text (he’s a lucky chap). He suggested I should check to see if this was one of those things that means something is wrong with me and/or baby, I dutifully commenced googling, and it turns out that I’m the only person in the history of the world who has ever done a burp reminiscent of pencil sharpenings, and it is DEFINITELY NOT A PREGNANCY THING. It’s like the modern day googlewhack or something. Anyway. I blame the heady mix of tea, porridge, nutella and pre-natal vitamins. There, don’t you feel like your life is enriched for knowing that?

In all together less-gross news, this week was the Nottingham City WI Christmas Do, and a yummy meal was had at Bistro Pierre. It was a prime opportunity to instagram the crap out of my dinner, and once again, I completely forgot. I’m such a natural at this blogging malarky, right?

I did take a video of our unborn child doing olympic turns in the space formerly occupied by my essential organs, which, other than pencil sharpening-burps, is the only actual baby related news on this week’s blog. Make the most of it.

Warning: you remember that post where I mentioned how being pregnant had made me grow this soft blonde hair on my belly? You’re about to see a closeup:

Before getting in the family way, I expected baby kicks to be this wonderful little butterfly kicks that made you all glowy and smug at the miracle of life being created in your womb. Nowadays, kicks stop me in the middle of sentences and make me do unglamorous ‘OOF’s. But then, I spoke to someone at the WI Christmas Party who’s daughter had kicked her so hard in utero that she had BROKEN HER RIBS. From the inside. FROM THE INSIDE.

In times like this, there is only one way to express one’s feelings, and that is through the powerful medium of cat gifs.



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