Do you realise you didn't post a blog for the whole of December?Hmph. Yeah, I know. The trouble is that I have no brain. Seriously. These two "creative projects" I'm carrying about have been sucking my creative energy dry.
Man, I’m ripping up my subscription!! Surely it can’t be that hard to knock out some creative genius that titillates the great unwashed??!! Up the duff issues aside, your public needs you. So, get crackin’ slacker!!!
There is so much to write about: the death of James Brown; Tony Abbott's allocation of funding to a Catholic organisation for "pregnancy counselling"; severe water restrictions in SEQ while Tarong and Swanbank power stations continue to chew through 55 million litres a day to produce electricity to sell to NSW; Christmas consumption; the sad, sad show that was The Ashes.... but my brain just isn't able to process these topics to any coherant level. Sorry about that.
I've been reluctant to turn this into a pregnancy diary, but perhaps that's what's going to have to happen if anything's to be written. That's all my brain can focus on for the time being. Those not interested can find the door on their own, I'm sure.
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My latest pregancy joy is heartburn/reflux. I've never had it before, but a hot/cold burning in my throat is now my constant companion, particularly in the middle of the night. I don't know where I've put my packet of Tums, a product I discovered whilst in Canada, and now available in Australia, but only in the orange flavour. They make a nice change from the minty products. I must track it down before I turn in for the night.
On a better note, lying in bed Christmas eve I felt them moving for the first time. It was quite exciting. I'd been wondering when I might feel them, and thought I probably had already but not recognised it. That night it was unmistakable. Lying on one side Betty would drum away, roll over and Bob would take a turn. (Have I mentioned here that we have one boy and one girl? I'm not sure that I have.) Then, on New Year's Day, they were boogie-ing away enough for Lofty to feel them, which was a buzz, too. A couple of nights ago I could make out what seemed to be a leg poking up under my skin. It's a very odd experience, but the thoughts of the dinner scene from Alien are becoming less and less frequent.
It was a bit of a relief to feel them being active since I'd had a minor scare a day or two before. I'd had some painful belly cramping, enough to send me trotting off to the hospital to have it checked out. The staff were excellent. They checked me over and kept me in overnight just to keep an eye on things. No great conclusions on what caused it, but everything seems to be fine, and they encouraged me to come back if I was concerned about anything at all. We like to bitch about our public hospital system here--and heaven knows it could do with some improving--but my experiences have been quite satisfactory to date.
The ward they had me in was the actual maternity ward--my window had a nice view of my workplace, hurrah!-- so I was surrounded by wailing babies and their exhausted mothers. One woman who stands out was baggy-eyed and waddling alarmingly down the hall. I don't know the circumstances of the birth she'd had, but I can't say it looked too comfortable. But hey, what comes comes, so there's no point dwelling on it. I'm just trying to avoid birthing horror stories at the moment. I don't see the point in getting uptight about it, despite the world's seeming desire for me to do so. People seem to have a keen desire to get me to blanch or get all wobbly-kneed by telling me horrific stories. Or by laughing when I mention that it's twins. Well, to those in the latter group I say, can it be any worse than dealing with a newborn along with an attention-seeking two-year-old or two? I don't think so. And to the horror story brigade I say this: fuck off. Seriously. Take your morbid, thoughtless stories and jam them sideways. I really don't care that your friend's friend's sister-in-law's neighbours organs all dropped onto the floor just before their dog ate their baby, who had already died of SIDS anyway. Really. Why would I want to hear that story? It doesn't make me fearful, it just makes me think of you as a sad, maladjusted, self-absorbed, ambulance-chasing idiot. So let's just keep that a suspicion, rather than you confirming it, eh?
This Friday will mark 25 weeks. Although it's beginning to feel as though I've been pregnant forever, it also feels as though it's cracking along very quickly. Good grief, if all goes according to plan, we'll have two squealing pot roasts on our hands in around twelve weeks or so. Ha, and you think my blogging is sad now?
On a better note, lying in bed Christmas eve I felt them moving for the first time. It was quite exciting. I'd been wondering when I might feel them, and thought I probably had already but not recognised it. That night it was unmistakable. Lying on one side Betty would drum away, roll over and Bob would take a turn. (Have I mentioned here that we have one boy and one girl? I'm not sure that I have.) Then, on New Year's Day, they were boogie-ing away enough for Lofty to feel them, which was a buzz, too. A couple of nights ago I could make out what seemed to be a leg poking up under my skin. It's a very odd experience, but the thoughts of the dinner scene from Alien are becoming less and less frequent.
It was a bit of a relief to feel them being active since I'd had a minor scare a day or two before. I'd had some painful belly cramping, enough to send me trotting off to the hospital to have it checked out. The staff were excellent. They checked me over and kept me in overnight just to keep an eye on things. No great conclusions on what caused it, but everything seems to be fine, and they encouraged me to come back if I was concerned about anything at all. We like to bitch about our public hospital system here--and heaven knows it could do with some improving--but my experiences have been quite satisfactory to date.
The ward they had me in was the actual maternity ward--my window had a nice view of my workplace, hurrah!-- so I was surrounded by wailing babies and their exhausted mothers. One woman who stands out was baggy-eyed and waddling alarmingly down the hall. I don't know the circumstances of the birth she'd had, but I can't say it looked too comfortable. But hey, what comes comes, so there's no point dwelling on it. I'm just trying to avoid birthing horror stories at the moment. I don't see the point in getting uptight about it, despite the world's seeming desire for me to do so. People seem to have a keen desire to get me to blanch or get all wobbly-kneed by telling me horrific stories. Or by laughing when I mention that it's twins. Well, to those in the latter group I say, can it be any worse than dealing with a newborn along with an attention-seeking two-year-old or two? I don't think so. And to the horror story brigade I say this: fuck off. Seriously. Take your morbid, thoughtless stories and jam them sideways. I really don't care that your friend's friend's sister-in-law's neighbours organs all dropped onto the floor just before their dog ate their baby, who had already died of SIDS anyway. Really. Why would I want to hear that story? It doesn't make me fearful, it just makes me think of you as a sad, maladjusted, self-absorbed, ambulance-chasing idiot. So let's just keep that a suspicion, rather than you confirming it, eh?
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This Friday will mark 25 weeks. Although it's beginning to feel as though I've been pregnant forever, it also feels as though it's cracking along very quickly. Good grief, if all goes according to plan, we'll have two squealing pot roasts on our hands in around twelve weeks or so. Ha, and you think my blogging is sad now?
3 comments:
Thanks for the update... I was composing my own "nudge" of an email, but having been pregnant (and not in the too distant past) I thought better of it.
Glad to hear you're well, and no I don't think you had mentioned the sex of the creative endeavours. I laughed out loud (startling my coworkers) at your admonishment to ambulance chasers. I will say though, after all is said and done and you need a laugh, you ought to read both my and hubby's versions of the birth of kiddo if you haven't already.
You're right that it's not worth getting bent out of shape; women have been doing this for thousands of years... and most of those without modern medicine.
Well, this post turned my frown upside-down -- but your posts often do that. And your pot-roasts are dizygotic, or possibly polar body -- that's cool. I am a geek.
I don't understand why ambulance-chasers don't just park themselves at the emergency ward. It seems more efficient. Plus they could get a psychiatric assessment while they're there.
Cheryl, a nudge wouldn't have been unwelcome! It may not necessarily have resulted in any output, but it wouldn't have resulted in a hissy fit, either.
Tim, dizygotic is the likely choice, if the prevalence of the same in my family is anything to go by. On my mother's side male-female twins are rife, so I'm carrying on a long tradition.
You may be interested to know, being a geek and all, that the latest New Scientist has a major article on atavism, or reverse evolution aka genetic throwbacks. In the article it looks at various human genetic quirks, like webbed toes, and discusses whether each feature might be atavistic. Twinning gets an inspection, on the basis that it might be a "throwback" to a time of our ancestors breeding "large litters". The jury seems to be out on whether it's atavistic or not. In other news, long canine teeth and extra digits are possibly throwbacks, extra nipples (if located along the nipple lines) are definitely atavisms. In the same article I also learned of a disorder in which... wait for it...hair sprouts from a person's gums. Ick. The world truly is an amazing place.
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