Weeks 27 – 30

Third trimester
The second trimester is known for being the best bit of pregnancy apparently, because you’re not massive and sore and stuff just yet, and you have marginally more energy than in the first and third trimesters. I say “apparently” because those benefits passed me by completely.

Either way, that bit’s over now, so we’re technically on the home straight.

This month we swanned off to Turkey for our jollies, and our close friend’s 60th birthday. I was a little apprehensive about travelling when pretty pregnant, especially when I realised I couldn’t use my Ehic card, but luckily everything was fine.

At least, it was fine until we left the house to drive to the airport and I started feeling decidedly peaky. In the short version of the story, I ate a krispy kreme donut for breakfast and then had a funny turn and passed out/had a little fit/convinced myself I had gestational diabetes.

The longer version of the story involves having an emergency poo at the side of the road before I passed out, whilst having an internal dilemma over whether it was less embarrasing to point my arse towards the cars (anonymity) or my face (no exposed arse).

LOVE a good sunset

LOVE a good sunset

(I went with face, by the way, in case you’re interested)

Neil wanted to get me checked out at the hospital but that pretty much guaranteed that we were going to miss our flight and I was pretty convinced that there were both medics and English breakfasts at Stanstead airport departure lounge – both of which would probably sort me right out. By the time we ‘d got finished with the emergency poos, got through roadworks, caught the bus to the terminal and got through security, there was actually only time for the English breakfast, but luckily it seemed to do the trick as I felt much better after that.

The view from our balcony

The view from our balcony

We’d upgraded our room to a 2 bedroom family suite apartment because every time we’ve ever shared a room with Billy since he was 6 weeks old, it’s resulted in none of us getting any sleep. It turns out it that this was a Very Good Move, but not because Billy was the problem, I became the problem. Or, more specifically, my insanely loud pregnancy snoring became the problem. So I had a superkingsized bed and en suite all to myself, and my poor suffering husband bunked in with Billy in a single bed. Soz Neil.

26 weeks "all inclusive" food/baby

26 weeks “all inclusive” food/baby

GTT tests

As soon as we landed back in the UK, it was time for my Glucose Tolerance Test. Basically, in my area (other areas test everyone indiscriminately), if your BMI is over a certain number, you’re over a certain age, fit a certain ethnic profile or had a fat shit baby before (TICK), they want you to fast for 15 hours, then drink a pint of lucazade whilst they test your blood.

Bearing in mind my recent history with Krispy Kremes, this was not an experience I was looking forward to as I’d done a fairly good job of convincing myself I had the diabeetus and was going to spend the rest of this pregnancy eating lettuce. But, like all things I’m utterly dreading, it was actually FINE, and my blood sugar levels were exactly the same before the lucazade as they were 2 hours after the lucazade. I think this is a good thing? Either way, no Gestational Diabetes here, pass the Cadbury’s Dairy Milk.

My Magic Chiropractor/Wizard

Now I don’t know about everyone else, but my pregnancies seem to have been plagued by very specific and annoying ailments which appear overnight, stay for a few days and then disappear as quickly as they came on. Conveniently, they seem to disappear at the same point you reach the end of the Google search engine results pages and have tried every pregnancy safe remedy in the book. Examples of this include: insanely sensitive teeth that stop you eating or drinking, a scalp so itchy it stops you sleeping at night and mysterious hives that come and go as they damn well please.

One such ailment was the appearance of a completely dead left leg and bum cheek, which made getting up the 8 flights of stairs to the office a teensy bit tricky. After 4 days of this, I found a chiropractor that specialised in pregnant ladies and kids and families and whatnot and thought it would be worth a go.

Pretty much as soon as I booked the appointment, I got up from my desk and my left leg had magically come back to life. Bastard.

Still, with PGP/SPD rearing its ugly head, I went along for the appointment and it was the SINGLE BEST THING I’VE EVER DONE. Seriously. You don’t have to hurt when you get out of bed. Putting on your knickers needn’t be a mammoth task. She’s even cured me of heartburn! Although she’s patiently explained it to me a million times, I don’t have the foggiest how it works, but I’ve decided I don’t need to. I’m just more than happy to turn up once every couple of weeks feeling all wonky and achey, and then walk out 25 minutes later with a spring in my step and a perfectly aligned pelvis. If you’re reading this and you’re pregnant, just bloody go, you definitely won’t regret it.


This month, I was also diagnosed with anemia, which I think might have had a thing or two to do with my fainting episode, on reflection. I hate iron tablets with the fire of a thousand suns, so I looked into some alternatives and found Spa Tone sachets, which taste like shite, but don’t give you anywhere near the tummy upsets that iron tablets do. For good measure, I chucked in some Ferroglobin tablets too. Stitch that, anemia.

Definitely not thinking about squeezing that chick

Definitely not thinking about squeezing that chick

On weight gain

When I was pregnant with Billy, I pretty much avoided the scales at all costs. Except when I was in labour, when I weighed myself and got the shock of a lifetime when I discovered I’d put on 45lbs. With Billy being such a chunk, I’ve always felt a bit guilty that maybe the amount of fish and chips I ate had affected his gargantuan proportions, and vowed to eat healthier this time around.

…Which I largely have. I’ve not had the same food aversions this time around, which is good, because when you’re starving hungry but the thought of every meal under the sun makes you want to vom (with the exception of fish and chips), then fish and chips you will eat.  This time around, I’ve been able to eat a lot more protein, I’ve eaten a lot of hard boiled eggs, bagels, sultana bran, berries and dried fruit. I’ve not eaten anywhere near as many takeaways, biscuits or chocolates, so I deserve not to put on as much weight, right?

WRONG. On my 27 week blog when pregnant with Billy, I commented that I’d put on 16lbs so far. Guess how much weight I’d put on by 27 weeks this time round? 16 FREAKING LBS. I can’t wait for the 18 months or so it’ll take me to work off those 45lbs again this time around.

Next month: I pass out some more, get an ambulance called for me, but miraculously avoid emergency roadside poos (progress).


27 weeks: cake comas, bus rage and realising you weigh the same as a small family car

On the scales finally catching up with me – I kicked off the week, and the third trimester, with a quick jump on the scales and a mild panic attack at the realisation that I’d put on about 16lbs from my pre-pregnancy weight. I’ve not weighed myself since moving in to the new house, so I have no idea how they link to what I used to weigh on my old bathroom floor before I got pregnant.  Mind you, I also got 5 different readings from 5 different spots on my bathroom floor, so I vowed to: a) eat less biscuits and b) save any full blown panic attacks for when I’d jumped on the midwife’s scales that I actually trust.

…then I had a chocolate croissant. Start as you mean to go on, like.

But that’s not where the nutritionally dodgy choices ended this week. For the rest of Friday, I hot-footed it down to London and a leaving do for a colleague. There may/may not have been haddock and chips, Krispy Kremes, carrot cake, nachos and pizza involved. Still, I stayed awake long enough to get OFF the train when it rolled back in to Nottingham at 11:30, so I’m going to count that as a win all in all.

Also ensuring I got my five (slices of cake) a day, this weekend bought the last cake club of 2012 at the Malt Cross. This was our Christmas-themed event, and as ever, we were spoiled for choice. The photos, as ever are all stolen from Cake Eaters Anonymous. 

The cakes, including Kerry’s warm chocolate Guinness cake second from front. Booze is allowed when it’s in cake form, right?

Liana (Starbakery’s) phenomenal chocolate gingerbread house (BEFORE SHOT)

AFTER SHOT: This is what happens when you let Liana’s son, a knife and me loose on a house made out of chocolate.

On nicknames – This week, after a conversation where I told Neil that I wouldn’t have changed my name when we got married if it was something crap like ‘Bacon’, he’s taken to calling me ‘Mrs Bacon’. Sincerely hope this is an attempt at humour and not a passing judgement on either my newly acquired appearance or my eating habits.

On baby and bus related developments – Baby had hiccups for the first time on Tuesday AND Thursday, and Neil was around to feel it.

Related: may or may not have missed the bus to work due to much faffing and stomach prodding. To be fair, there was a bus pulling in to the bus stop as I turned the corner of my road, but Pelvic Girdle Pain and a heavy handbag do not make for a graceful or swift Kate. The bus left it’s doors open until I was approximately 1 meter (10 meters) away, then flounced off in a smug fashion. Of course, the next bus was an infuriating 20 minutes late. If I didn’t hate other people’s public transport-related tweets quite so much, I would have done some excellent bus rage tweets this week.

In other bus related news (oh goody!) I’ve now got to the point where people offer their seat on the bus, which is pretty cool. The next step is losing my polite British exterior and ACTUALLY accepting their offer rather than clinging to the bars for dear life around the roundabout.

On impending motherhood – Currently feeling like I would quite like to take the baby out for a quick cuddle, give it the once over, then put it back in for another three months for safe keeping and to finish cooking. Three months seems like an impossibly long and ridiculously short length of time all in one.

On baby books – This week, I also finished one of the most refreshing baby-related books I’ve read in ages. I’m mulling over a bigger post about all the baby books I bought for a penny on amazon, and how stoopid the vast majority are. In the meantime, if you can get past the anti-everything-remotely-medical stance, the tofu and the cave metaphors (FYI ‘cave’ is never going to be an acceptable way to describe ladies’ nude-y bits), Ina May’s “Guide to Childbirth” has a really interesting perspective on how we condition ourself to feel pain and anxiety in labour. Whilst I’m not quite ready to give up bacon and move to a birthing commune, I did take a lot from it – like the concept of “letting your monkey do it”. If you do read it, it’s a good idea to read the second half of the book first and then go back to read the birth stories at the end – it made a lot more sense to me this way around.

Speaking of books, this week was Broadway Book Club‘s November meeting with author Damien Seaman, author of the Killing of Emma Gross. In the past, I’ve not enjoyed the book clubs where the authors attend, largely because I didn’t like their books, but I couldn’t find a constructive way of saying it, other than ‘IT WORRA BIT CRAP’. This one was different, because the book was good (I say that as someone who doesn’t really like crime books OR historically based books, and this was both), and the author had a sense of humour, and was interested in what we had to say. So, if the Weimar Republic and crime novels are your thing, check out his book for the measly price of £1.98 on Kindle.

On bump shots – I got a text from my best mate this week complaining about the lack of  bump shots on the blog of late. Apparently posting a picture of your cat instead doesn’t quite cut it? In my defence, by the time I get home of an evening, I usually either look or feel like crap and have my PJs on within 10 seconds of walking through the door.

So, with drizzled on hair and very little make up, I present: week 27:

27 week bump shot

I’ve now got to the point where my belly is significantly larger than my boobs, which I don’t think I ever thought would happen. And YES, that is the dress that I said I would put away to wear on Laura’s hen do. I wore it AGAIN.

On countdowns – Oh, and one more thing: You know those countdowns that only the person counting down actually cares about? I finish work in 10 weeks time. No big deal.

Next week – I’ve got lots of exciting things planned like Pelvic Girdle Support Group (funsies), getting weighed at the Midwife’s and a Christmas party in Islington.