This whole having a baby thing is very novel, but having your unborn child’s limbs jumping on your bladder and taking up vital space in your lungs at the same time is getting real old, real quick. I could do with another 5 inches on my torso, please. Or, you know, fast forward to my due date and get the baby out, either would be fine.
We did our Parent Education workshops in our local hospital this weekend, which I suppose means we’re as well educated as we’re going to be about the whole ‘being parents’ stuff. I’m not sure I’m any the wiser now than I was before I did the classes, I was too busy avoiding the cold hard glares from the possessed looking dolls she was using to show us breastfeeding techniques *shudders*. Also, a lot of people told me that they chose to do the NCT classes because they attracted a nicer clientele than the NHS ones. Don’t get me wrong, I think the NCT classes probably go in to more detail than the NHS ones, and you get the benefit of a circle of potential friends that are at the same stage of their pregnancy as you are, but – in the defence of the NHS, the classes were well organised, the teacher was knowledgeable and the other people on the course were friendly, didn’t resemble the people you might normally see on Jeremy Kyle, and no-one punched each other.
Well, the snowpocalypse never really emerged did it? We measured about 3-4 inches in our garden, but being 35 weeks pregnant somewhat impedes ones aerodynamicness when it comes to sledging, so I’ve mostly been enjoying it from the comfort of our sofa. And, by enjoying it, I mean watching the cat freaking out and trying to eat all the snow.
As of this week, Baby R’s hearing is now fully formed, so we should probably do more talking to it and stuff. So far, this has largely involved Neil shouting ‘HELLO BABY’ at my tummy and me occasionally wibbling the belly with requests to ‘get the hell out of my lungs, baby’. All this counts as bonding, right?
I angered the pregnancy gods early on this week by telling my best friend that I’d been sleeping well, had more energy than I had done in ages and was generally feeling pretty good. Within 48 hours of muttering those words, I was back to getting up four or five times a night to wee, tossing and turning constantly and had developed a very bruised feeling in my solar plexus around where my diaphragm used to keep my lungs in place. This space now appears to be filled with pointy baby joints and, (I’m assuming by the gurgling sounds that keep coming from it) some vital organs including my stomach. Last night was the worst of the lot. Sore bones, sore and itchy skin, restless brain and phantom 3am hunger/acid reflux all made an appearance. This led to me admitting defeat around 2:30am and heading to the sofa in search of a change of scenery. At 4:30am, I admitted defeat there too and headed back off to bed, where I finally dropped off, only to be woken two hours later by my BLOODY alarm.
I’d often wondered why so many people I knew went on maternity leave around 35/36 weeks. This might be the pregnancy grumps talking because I didn’t sleep well last night, but all of a sudden, it feels like something has changed. Braxton Hicks went from being novel and a teensy bit cool to happening every time I picked up a basket of laundry and very annoying. Getting out of bed has gone from something mildly resembling a weeble to something that takes 20 minutes and a lot of mental willpower to work up to. I’m ready to spend a few days in my pyjamas, taking regular naps and doing little jobs off my to do list in between.
…of course, that isn’t going to happen. I have two weeks left at work, and am Matron of Honour at my best friends Hen Do in York this weekend. Ah well.
So, bump shots for the week:
Exhibit A: Evidence of my rapidly disappearing jawline
Exhibit B: Evidence of my rapidly expanding waistline.
And then, because I stood the wrong way round for this photo, I had to flip it in photoshop to put it in the bump progression rogues gallery. It appears I had a bigger and lower bump 5 weeks ago, but I’m definitely more massive now than I was then, you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Also, in celebration of the fact that my Nana turned 91, here’s a bonus of me, my little brother, Momma Bear and Nana in the pub on her birthday.