It’s finally time to say goodbye. You have been such a faithful friend to us over the years. You accompanied bean from Brisbane to Sydney to Melbourne. You introduced Sorenson to the joys of travel and independence. You had a good heart, and we took care of it by making sure you got your regular check-ups. You were powerful and reliable and had loads of personality. But we were less careful with your appearance, and by the end you were mangy and sorry-looking, with bare patches and bits hanging loose. Yet we loved you, despite everything - the slow starts and hissy fits in the morning when you were cold, the strong doggy smell when it rained, and your bottom that you just couldn’t keep closed. And we are sad to see you go, but it is time. We are bringing new people into our family and we know that you will not cope. So, we thank you for your loyal friendship and service, and we hope that where ever you go your dreams are filled with open spaces and warm weather.
On the weekend we went to see Paris, Je T’aime. It was patchy, as you would expect a bunch of short films strung together to be. There were funny ones and sad ones and silly ones. But there was one story, the very last one, that moved me profoundly:
Now, I hate Paris. I spent three days there when I was 18, and I was sick the whole time. I dragged myself around the sights, vomiting in the gutter as I went. The thought of Paris just makes me feel nauseous even now. (Later I found out I was pregnant at the time, but that’s another story.)
While I didn’t feel anything other than sick in Paris, I have felt all those feelings that she describes so simply in her school-girl French. I have mostly always travelled alone, and that lonely, lost, disappointed feeling as I wandered around a new place is a very familiar one.
But I have also felt that bittersweet euphoria, and it is one of the best feelings I have ever had. Among other places, I have felt it on a hill among the wild rosemary in the south of France; while freezing in St Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow; and almost every day that I was in Japan.
I will always be glad that I travelled alone, because I don’t think you can feel like that in company. It is so linked to solitude, that feeling, that it never occurred to me that other people might feel it too. That is why this story moved me so deeply.
I’m feeling alarmed about another 8 weeks worth of growth, but apparently it slows down near the end. I’ve started getting an annoying kind of nesting insomnia. I wake up at 2 or 3 am - usually I need to wee, but sometimes I stubbornly refuse - and then I’m awake! And then the baby is awake too - which is still endlessly fascinating. Two nights ago I lay there for 2 hours obsessed with the idea of buying more glass jars (with good seals) for storing dried fruit. Lordy. I feel slightly mad.
My tummy muscles are separating at the midline, and the tearing feeling is pretty awful. I’ve started taping and binding to support it and that helps, although the binder can make me feel a bit nauseous. One more week of work. The last two weeks have been extremely trying. I keep banging my tummy into bedrails and getting squashed when trying to lean over to do midwifey things. I’m also exhausted in a way I haven’t been before.
S is still not showing much. As she is so much shorter than me, we both thought she’d pop out super early. Her body is starting to change, but the residual muscles from years of bike riding and circus are still holding things in. Bloody muscles. It means I can’t feel B2 move yet! She’s feeling the baby’s strange fluttery wriggles every day now. I can’t wait.
I’ve been counting down the days. Including today, there are only 33 days until I don’t have to make the journey into work. (bean has only 6!)
I have mixed feelings. Mostly I can’t wait. I am really looking forward to being able to focus all my energy at home, instead of having it pulled every which way. But I have done a pretty good job of making myself indispensible at work, and yesterday my manager and I looked at each other grey-faced as we realised how much I have to do to make my leaving ok and how little time there is to do it in.
I have such a strange relationship with work. I love my job - it is rewarding and interesting and I have really fantastic colleagues. And I love my home life - my gorgeous girlfriend, our warm house and chaotic garden, and the two tiny people who are about to join us in it. But I hate the pull between the two. I often wish I could just be doing one or the other, because I always feel like I am not doing either of them justice.
So, time off feels like a little oasis. Naive? Of course. I expect I will work harder over the next year than I have ever worked in my life!
Here is a cropped photo of my tummy at 31 weeks. I would have put up the whole picture, but S said it was too rude for the blog. It really wasn’t-there’s actually nothing to see as I’ve shaved everything off in an attempt to save on toilet paper (we have broken/blocked pipes, very annoying). Anyway, I’m feeling pleased that my body is attempting to create the groovy dark line that some women get-the linea nigra, but it seems I have only enough melanin to get it fairly faintly. For some reason, the line becomes darker the lower it goes (it was easier to see in the uncropped photo!), until it spreads out a little-a bit like an arrow. Perhaps my body is trying to give me a warning, although I’m pretty clear about where the action will take place in 8ish weeks.
This is the second loaf and it was even better! It’s a white/wholemeal/rye mix with caraway seeds and even the crust tasted great.
Last night I felt b2 move. I’m not sure if it was the first time - there have been other tiny blips and bubbles over the last week that could have been movement, but it’s the first time I was absolutely sure that it was b2 and not some strange indigestion. I was sure because it happened and I thought, ‘oh, there’s my baby!’ Rather than, ‘um, could that be the baby?’
I have been waiting for this moment. I thought it would come suddenly - a blinding flash of certainty that there was a little person in there, not just a mess of my own innards. But it has been slow - first there was that miraculous, rusty heartbeat from the rickety old doppler in the GPs office; then the blips and bubbles; then a distinct sensation over the last three or four days of my belly stretching outwards - my uterus has definitely popped up over my pubic bone and is easily, clearly felt by both me and bean (especially when it goes hard with a small contraction). And then finally, last night, that clear shift and twist in my belly - still tiny enough to only be noticed when I was lying very still and not thinking about anything much, but absolutely distinctly a movement not generated by my own body.
I have always been curious about my body and what it can do (or perhaps more accurately, what I can do to it!). So of course, as a midwife and lactation consultant, I have certain expectations about what I’ll be able to squeeze out of my breasts. Here is my week 30 colostrum expressing effort. I am lucky enough to have a special bonus opening from the base of my right nipple which used to be pierced. Actually, maybe that will just be annoying and contribute to general leakiness. Either way, I am very glad that this part of my body is working well so far.
Poor S, who has endured my many attempts to find residual breast fluid in her previously non-pregnant breasts, has from 14 weeks been able to express a tiny bead of colostrum. I couldn’t be more proud!
When we went to the recent weekend birth workshop, we met a lovely couple who like exactly the same TV that we do. It was the most exciting part of the whole weekend. Her partner was a very bright and quirky man who bakes his own bread, and I was inspired to try it again after a hiatus of a decade or so.
I do love nigella.
We also love her butter biscuit recipe. It keeps the shape you desire and tastes amazing with lemon icing…
