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).


28 weeks

AS IN 28 / 4 = 7 months. 7 MONTHS pregnant. Got that? Right.

The pregnancy gods got a little retro this week and kicked off week 28 with what I thought was a bit of morning sickness with some acid reflux thrown in for good measure. Still, as I’d been furiously scrubbing my hands with soap at every opportunity since the words ‘norovirus’ piped up on the scene again, I was happy to take a bit of nausea over something that would undoubtedly be a lot more grim. Also, I’d begun to get rose tinted spectacles about the whole first trimester thing. So I sipped water, nibbled dry biscuits and waited for it to pass.

…except it didn’t pass. Needless to say, the biscuits made a violent reappearance, after several hours of stomach cramps and fever, I cursed myself for assuming it was morning sickness in the first place. Only, by that time, Neil had gone away for the weekend, and my best friend was on her way up the motorway for a takeaway and a chilled out weekend. She had a takeaway, and a chilled out weekend. I think. I spent most of it on the bathroom floor, or in bed. At one point, I was so delirious and feverish that I took all my clothes off and lay on the bathroom floor with my head on the cold bath. Poor Laura. Poor Becky who I cancelled birthday party plans with. Poor me.

On Monday morning, I woke up to discover that although my weekend had been a complete write off, I was, annoyingly, well enough for work. It also saw me tootling off to the hospital for Pelvic Support Group, which was quite literally as fun as it sounded. We practised standing up and sitting down properly, we did some good walking on the spot, and we didn’t even get a goody bag. I was having a GOOD DAY, so I had a bit of a spring in my step and wasn’t in too much pain, but seeing the other women in the group made me feel incredibly grateful for my minor ailments so far *touches wood furiously*. A lot of these women were struggling to sit or stand, and one woman is now limited in what she can do by how close she can park to the place she needs to be. I didn’t learn a huge amount that I didn’t know already as I’d researched it fairly thoroughly, but the physio did reiterate the importance of symmetry in your actions – the way you sit, stand, walk etc. This was something I’d not considered before and something I will be paying closer attention to on my bad days.

I saw the midwife again this week who told me I had bendy veins (no, I’ve got no idea either), gave me some good elbow crevice bruises and confirmed my suspicions that the baby is head down and over to the right hand side. I’m measuring 30 weeks instead of 28, which she’s not very surprised at, with Neil being a HUGE baby and me being such a LONG baby.

On Tuesday, I discovered that if you leave a Christmas tree and decorations in a box in front of my friend Becky, she will quite happily decorate your Christmas tree for you. I also remembered why we put our tree up so late last year. The cat might not be very good at catching birds, but she can scale a 6ft plastic Christmas tree in about 3 seconds flat.

On Wednesday, I found out that not only does Nottingham have a Sheriff, but we have a lady-Sheriff who, I discovered is a bit lovely as she came to open an event I helped run with work.

Whilst we’re talking about work, this week, I met our company’s new CEO without realising when he came over to ask me where a colleague was. I told him very efficiently that the colleague in question ‘didn’t work Tuesdays’, to which he politely confirmed that it was, in fact, Thursday. It was only when he walked away from my desk with a slight shake of the head that I realised a) what day it was and b) who he was, but in my defense, he looks NOTHING LIKE HE DOES ON THE INTRANET. Smooth. Real smooth.

Thursday was also the day that Nottingham came to a standstill after work with traffic jams all over the city. What with it being freezing and raining, and with a house to tidy and dinner to cook in the next hour and a half before friends arrived, I had little choice but to start walking home, bus stop by bus stop. Walking home isn’t a big deal, I thought. I used to do it every day, and it’s only 1.7 miles. OK, so I had a bag of shopping that I was expecting to take on the bus not carry home, and my boots were giving me a bit of grief, but I was only going to take it a bus stop at a time, and a bus would be there any minute anyway.

…Except the buses never showed, and I walked bus stop to bus stop until I got all the way home. As I turned in to our road, I saw Neil whizz past me in the car, and I’m a bit ashamed to say I actually called him in tears and made him reverse to drive me the last 150 yards. Somewhere over the past 28 weeks, I seem to have gained the body of an old and feeble woman, and 1.7 miles in the cold and rain left me in more pain than running a half marathon. Although I was deathly tired, I also had a rubbish night’s sleep, being completely unable to get comfy with painful hips, and I’m still sore today. All from those 1.7 tiddly little miles. Pregnancy does some funny things to your body, and this one, I definitely don’t like.Grr, grump, old lady bones.

(rant over)

So there you go! Dullest week in history: it started with a little vomit, involved going to hospital to be taught how to sit in a chair, had a bit of a detour when a midwife stole my much needed blood, saw me act like a bufoon in front of the big boss and then cry like a baby because I had to walk home. Once.

Next week, I’m going to have a blog full of pretty instagram pictures I’ve taken myself, and lots of witty little observations about life and pregnancy that will make you chortle in to your cuppa. Honest.