Remember how I thought I was doing OK with the heat. It turned out it was a big fib.
I’m not going to go all ranty and complaining on you don’t worry (I don’t want to write wingeing and I can’t imagine who on earth would want to read it) but in the spirit of reality I can say with some degree of certainty that last Saturday broke me. It was the kind of hot humid day where you just want to take your skin off and sit in your bones. With wall to wall thick cloud of that palest grey that looks and feels like you’re being smothered in a blanket of stuffed toy filling, even sitting still was just too hot. My fingers and toes and ankles all started to impersonate hot air balloons and a happier girl you never did find on Sunday morning when we woke up to the familiar rustle of the wind rippling through the trees behind the house.
Even the baby seemed to feel it; for those few trying days the over-excited hops and kicks turned into more languid rolls and prods, although I’m sure at least some of that must be due to the Little Bump starting to run out of space.
Please let him or her be starting to run out of space; I really thought I couldn’t have got much bigger in one week and yet the camera doesn’t lie (well not unless I tell it to) and I think that bump might just have got bigger again. I’ve not seen the midwife this week so I don’t have an updated estimate weight, and to be honest I think I might have to start ignoring estimated weights in the interest of maintaining a little calm aura of optimism about the birth. What I do know is that even H thinks it’s (a) bigger and (b) lower than last week. The pictures suggest he’s right about (a), as does the appearance of a whole new set of bright red stretch marks across the top of the bump, and (b) is rather verified by my inability to sit in a ladylike manner!
This week’s big event (at least in baby planning terms) was our visit from the Health Visitor. It’s something our Health Visiting team starting doing when I was expecting Elma, they come out for a visit a few weeks before your due date for a half hour chat; usually about what the Health Visitors do, when they’ll take over from the midwives, when clinic is and things like that. The idea behind it is really excellent; you get to meet your Health Visitor so they’re a familiar face when they turn up at your door in the middle of the sleep deprived baby haze, and they get to see you when you’re not sleep deprived and baby hazy which I suspect gives them quite a nice benchmark for your particular version of normal to help them assess you for any non-verbal signs of post natal depression etc.
If the effect was somewhat spoiled by our visitor being a temporary summer cover; well at least we all tried; she was lovely and we had a nice chat.
I have also pulled out from the drawer my hospital bag and put it on the bench in our bedroom. It’s funny, it’s a bag I was given as a birthday present the year we had Kitty (it’s a squish it and fold away Cath Kidston holdall) and I’ve used it as my hospital bag for all the children; I just always seem to forget about its existence when I’m packing to go anywhere else. Right now it contains the Little Bump’s mama-made cardigan, a packet of newborn nappies and a packet of Water Wipes so I’m not sure I could claim that I’m completely packed, but I have at least started to acknowledge that I may need some of these bits and bobs at some time in the next three to five weeks.
And speaking of the next three to five weeks – any signs of labour? No. The baby may be lower and I’m getting a few runs of Braxton-Hicks with a fairly strong correlation to Elma nursing but they aren’t painful, just noticeable so I think we’ve still got some way to go!
Hello!Once upon a time there was a girl named Carie. She married her sweetheart, had two beautiful daughters and now a tiny son too and filled their days with an eclectic handmade life. Welcome to the story so far ...
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