24 weeks and feeling like arse.

So I’m 24 weeks preggo and have the cold of all sodding colds.

Normally, I don’t get them. I have rather a cracking immune system and just don’t get colds. When I’m pregnant, it’s a different story. Not only do I feel like pure arse, due to my condition can’t take lemsips or sinus clearing stuff. My sinuses are so full my teeth hurt.

Hot honey and lemon? I hear you say. I Might as well cast a spell. It would probably be as effective.

Now the reason I feel so poo is my immune system is compromised as my body is doing its thing growing Little Pea. For that I’m grateful. But I’m not sure I can sleep with my mouth open for one more night. My throat is killing me and I miss breathing through my nose. It’s why I got up at half five this morning.

To add my feelings of woe, I’ve been informed I need to visit the OASIS clinic. This will be to ascertain the true extent of the damage William’s big beautiful head did to my downstairs and from that decide whether a c-section would be best for me next year. I should have had these appointments soon after having the bald kitten but never got one. I can’t tell you how much I’m dreading this. Oasis sounds quite pleasant but it’s an anagram. That’s all I’m saying…

Another ‘fun’ thing I have to do is a glucose tolerance test, to check for gestational diabetes. I did ask not to have this as I had the test last time and was fine, I don’t feel I have diabetes now and to be honest not being able to eat from midnight to then sit for two hours after having a revolting drink and then a blood test (I HATE NEEDLES!) for no real reason is stressing me out! No food from midnight until about half eleven the next day. Approach with caution.

I’m seeing the midwife next week when I’ll be booked in for my anti-d. It’s an injection to make sure that if my baby is a positive blood group, my negative blood cells don’t see it as some sort of invasion to kill. It’s less of an injection more giant sodding harpoon. And it hurts like hell. So, yay for me!

Fingers crossed this cold buggers off TODAY so I can sleep tonight and remember what it feels like to be a fully functioning human.

In other news:

The cats new favourite place is William’s bedroom. Captain sleeps on the changing table, Marms is working on making his duvet all hairy.

Our bathroom has been fitted, it’s beautiful, it just needs painting. We can’t wait for it to be finished.

Mums night out on Saturday! I’ll be there snot or no snot (hopefully no snot!)

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Shopping Woes.

It’s official.

Shopping is now shit.

This is aside from the fact that there is naf all attire for preggos on the high street.

It’s the behaviour of my son. He is now a ball bag of monumental proportions anytime we go near anything that resembles a shop. For starters HE WILL NOT GO IN HIS PUSHCHAIR. I made the fatal mistake of putting him in one on Friday after a coffee with mum in Waterstones because a game of ‘Put the book back darling’ which in my head was a game of ‘put that fucking book back and finish your drink that I’ve just paid through the arse for!!’

(I’d like to point out we were nowhere near the children’s section, he’d pulled an anthology of poetry off the shelf and when I asked him to put it back he pouted and started bending the book. I took it off him so he didn’t damage it and I’d have to pay a tenner for a massive book of shit poems. Removing the book from his possession caused a screamathon. It’s fun when everyone stares.)

Anyway, I put him in his pushchair. He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. He started choking on his own tears. He threw Miaow Miaow on the floor then asked to be handed his beloved soft toy, only to throw the bloody thing on the floor again.

He tried getting out of the straps. I put them back on. More screaming.

Why not let him walk? I hear you cry.

That is indeed an option. But this issue is this: the boy doesn’t run away in shops, he stops.

Dead.

And he

will

not

move.

I coax, bribe, cajole, get firm, pretend to leave and nothing works. The little sod just stands there with his arms crossed frowning at me like I’ve just shit on a puppy. If nothing works I go and get him. I hate physically moving him but I’m not standing in boots for nine hours whilst he looks wistfully at the cover of a craft beer book. I take him by the hand and try to talk him into moving and OF COURSE he’s having none of it. He does that thing kids do and just drops like his bones are jelly. So I pick him up (he’s usually wailing by this point) but I’m pregnant I can’t carry him for long periods of time so the idea is to pick him up calm him down and get him in the pushchair.

Predictably he refuses the pushchair. Says wants to walk. I try to put him down and the kid contorts more than someone having an exorcism in an effort not to let ANY part of him make contact with the floor because he wants to be carried. We then get a repeat of the being put in the pushchair tantrum.

I can take people staring and I can handle the behaviour. But I don’t want to.

I don’t want to have to narrate the whole time, I get sick of the sound of my own bloody voice and exhausted at the same time.

We popped into a shop called Dunelm today. Daddy was with us and the boy performed again. Hubs got gradually more frustrated as behaviour took a nose dive and we left before we’d looked at everything we wanted to.

I get that the shops don’t hold a lot of pull for him, but am I selfish for doing something I want instead of swimming or soft-play for him? I don’t spend long in the shops, I just want to do something adult. I’m already dreading trying to get round the shops with two of them!

In other news:

Potty training imminent.

New bathroom should be finished TOMORROW. I can’t wait for there not to be strangers in my house!

Little pea kicked hard enough for hubs to feel it the other day.

18 weeks – feels remarkably like all the other weeks so far.

My belly is a now constant reminder that I have a little pea swimming about in my uterus. I’m starting to feel the swimming which is very reassuring.

Speaking of swimming, Will started lessons four weeks ago. They’re all about getting the little one used to water and swim ready. There are songs and games and LOTS of splashing. It’s quite a workout for us as there is a lot of throwing the boy around. One of the exercises is to hold a novelty float and kick the water as an adult holds and guides you across the pool. Except Will doesn’t kick. He shouts ‘Weeeeeeeeeeee!’ with his feet sticking out of the water whilst hubs does all the work. It’s funny as hell but a tad frustrating when you’re repeating ‘kick, kick, kick!’ in a high pitched forced enthusiastic voice whilst he has a half an hour rest in the water. Hubs does the lesson with him as I’m not quite in a condition to throw a toddler about. I use the time to swim a few lengths. It’s nice to feel weightless for a bit and will be more so the more massive I get.

Today was busy, I had a lot to contend with; young teenaged girls showing off for the lanky teenaged lifeguard. Families treating the pool like it was a resort fun pool and throwing balls all over the sodding place, lanky teenaged lifeguard not noticing on account of the girls who seemed to be doing a lot of spinning? One of said girls climbed out of the pool in a teeny tiny bikini then slipped over, got up and did the over theatrical hysterical laughing and loudly telling her friend that she had just fallen over, to let anyone who might have seen it happen that she wasn’t completely mortified. I’m frankly quite jealous, if I’d have slipped over like that there’s no way in hell I could have got up so quickly.

We’ve visited friends this weekend and spent Saturday exploring Hampton Court Palace. The boy was fairly well behaved. We had a couple of public meltdowns, he loved stamping his feel in the large wooden floored rooms because it made a great sound. I do feel for the tourists with the audio guides as they had our little foghorn to contend with. The boy doesn’t see a rope barrier as something to keep behind and we uttered several frantic ‘Will, come here!’ Before we were told off or ejected. Although I have to say he senses the desperation in your voice and the more panicked you sound, the less likely he is to come back. Such fun!

We had a long drive home (got to love the M25) so swimming was a welcome stretch after being cooped up. We also had a mega tantrum in the services because we asked the bald kitten to put back a wheeled George Pig book, he didn’t want to put it back, he wanted us to cough up the £8 for it. When it became clear that would not be happening he screamed blue bloody murder. We were stared at. And across the car park as the tantrum continued which only stopped once he was strapped in his car seat. ‘Stopped crying now’ was the sentence for the next few miles.

Swimming has worn him out so definitely an early night. I can’t imagine hubs and I will be up more later. Tomorrow I have my whooping cough jab to look forward to.

In other news:

Marms, the majestic hunter that she is has just tried to catch a fly that’s on the other side of the window pane.

I nearly fainted today, turns out I’m a bit of a fainter in this pregnancy…

Holiday countdown has geared up a notch so the pressure is on to make sure the clothes are clean tomorrow instead of spending the day drinking tea and eating biscuits…

Kids TV – pros and cons

The bald kitten is now taking more of an interest in kids tv. As much as it’s not something I want him watching ALL the time, it definitely has its benefits.

My darling son doesn’t nap in the day anymore. My golden time has gone, so ten minutes of distraction is my time to sit down with a hot drink. It’s also reassuring to know I’ve something to entertain him when I get a few weeks away from my due date. When I’m too massive to get down onto the floor to play with him and walking upstairs to the loo has the same effect as running a marathon. (Or at least how I imagine it feels to run a marathon…)

Popping on the tv means he’s distracted whilst I do the boring household things that need doing, cleaning the sink, bleaching the loo, stuff like I’d rather not do with a toddler around.

There are messages about friendship and kindness in kids tv programmes too. So he’s probably learning something…

The downside of kids tv:

It’s so frigging irritating.

Will’s current favourites are: Bing, Paw Patrol and Twirly Woos.

Twirly Woos- a family of weird round things that live in a boat and communicate through a series of annoying noises. There’s also some sort of pointy owl that I don’t understand the point of. They can sail a ship but concepts such and ‘up’, ‘down’ and ‘around’ are completely new to them.

Paw Patrol – a gang of anthropomorphic dogs with a pre-pubescent overlord. One of said dogs, Marshal, is adored by many but has zero coordination and causes many accidents. Not sure how he made the team. Don’t know why they trust him with a fire truck when he can’t walk into a lift without falling over. Evil mayor seems to persistently evade law enforcement. Evil mayor keeps cats fuelling outdated and inaccurate stereotype of cats being evil. Non evil mayor has unhealthy relationship with a chicken. So far none of the dogs have tried to eat said chicken.

Bing- a small rabbit that makes you fantasise about stabbing yourself in the eyes. Never. Stops. Whining. Lives with weird as yet unidentified creature called ‘Flop’. Flop is either a father figure or serial killer. As Bing is so bloody irritating I’ve been rooting for serial killer for some time now.

Of all the stuff he watches I detest Bing the most. I get he’s supposed to portray a toddler, but I have a toddler. I get listen to enough tantrums/moaning I don’t want a second dose from the tv…

In conclusion: kids tv has its place but: It. Will. Break. You.

If you need me I’ll be telling the boy that the TwirlyWoos, Paw Patrol and Bing are all sleeping so we can’t possibly watch them…

The terrible twos?

I took Will to the supermarket today. He had a total of three tantrums. Each getting progressively worse. The final involved laying down in an aisle wailing about apple juice.

Clearly two is a tough age. The boy is more prone to temper tantrums, he’ll start bashing his toys in anger, growl and then cry. You can see he’s bloody furious about something but hasn’t yet got the words to tell us exactly what. Most of these tantrums can be sorted with a cuddle. It’s actually amazing how many are settled that way.

He’s also very good at settling himself. If he’s crying, he’ll suddenly do a big sniff, wipe his tiny hands over his face, pushing the tears away and say ‘better’. That’s it. Tantrum over. I cried in front of him the other day, I was very frustrated (nothing to do with him!) and he came over, cuddled me, wiped my face with his hands and said ‘better Mummy’. Nothing like the maturity of a toddler to snap you out of feeling sorry for yourself.

Tiredness is a big thing too. Much like his Mummy, the bald kitten is hard to be around when he’s tired. (He won’t nap though, no matter how much I want him to, I miss nap club!) Last night was the worst we’ve had. Probably ever. He even got cross with hubs and wanted to be with me for his bedtime bottle (wanting to be with Mummy over Daddy is as rare as rocking horse poo!) as I cuddled my hot, cross toddler he fell asleep.

Are the twos truly terrible? There’s no doubt the boy is finding it all a bit tough at times but I struggle to make sense of the world and I’m 32. It can get a bit embarrassing when he kicks off in public, but that’s part of parenting, and he’s still better behaved in public than a lot of adults I know…

In other news:

The bald kitten is really getting into giving the cats treats. They are really in to completely ignoring him. After being blanked today he turned to me and said ‘sad now’. My cats are dicks.

Not long until our family holibobs, operation ‘keep the boy amused on the plane’ is in preparation. Hubs has also got operation ‘Don’t let Mummy go for (kill or maim) passengers who tut or make derogatory comments about the boy and get us banned from traveling’ to plan and prepare.

I *think* that I may be feeling movements from little pea!

17 weeks pregnant

I had my second visit to the midwife this week. We got to hear little pea’s heartbeat! It’s really is a glorious sound, with some swishing where baby was moving around, it was easy to find, the midwife said we have a show-off on our hands!

Hubs is alarmed by how much my bump has grown since the appointment. And he’s right, it seems to have grown since Thursday morning!

At the appointment I was told about all the injections I have to look forward to. As a needle phobe I am LEAST looking forward to the anti-d. It’s important but less a needle more a javelin. And it bloody hurts! Stupid o negative blood group!!

Yesterday I was feeling a bit low so decided on a bath. I used a fancy bath bomb that smelt like roses. The boy wandered into the bathroom and insisted I put the boat in. Then the ducks and after standing by the bath playing with the toys and bubbles, he insisted on getting in. I have to say, although it wasn’t the pamper session I was hoping for, I do adore sharing the tub with the boy, I have done since he was tiny I don’t know what it is but it’s just lovely even if I have to share the tub with ALL the bath toys. The thing is I thought alone time would cheer me up, turns out quality time with the boy was all I needed.

We are making potty training progress. The boy said ‘need poo’ yesterday so I popped him on the toilet. He sat there for about ten minutes giggling and only pooed when I put a nappy on him. Kids. Now he’s talking about the toilet we get such gems as ‘Mummy do big poo?’ I’m just waiting for the day this is bellowed in public.

I’m still feeling a tad sicky, it’s an annoying background feeling but it’s with me all day. Chipsticks are my jam. I’m eating disgusting quantities of them. The salt and vinegar flavour doesn’t turn my stomach. And I can eat them quite happily at ANY time of the day or night. I was hoping I’d crave something a little healthier but there we go.

All I’m waiting for now is to start feeling little pea move. Any week now I should start to feel fluttery movements. The big kicks will make an interesting talking point with the boy I still don’t think he understands yet but he’s getting a baby for Christmas so we can practice being gentle and changing bums and leaving baby alone when it’s sleeping. And making Mummy cups of tea and running the hoover around…

Why are maternity clothes so hard to get hold of?

Rant alert!

I’ve just been to Tesco and spent more money than I wanted to on bigger pants. I’ve had a near permanent wedgie for the last week so it’s definitely time to invest in larger knickers.

I didn’t but maternity pants as I wouldn’t be seen dead in those over the bump monstrosities unless I was entering a fancy dress competition as an egg in an egg cup.

The thing I find beyond irritating is the complete lack of maternity clothing on the high street. I can go and buy maternity clothes from New Look (but only the branch in the city centre, not the one closer to me) or H&M. That’s it. Sure, more places sell maternity clothes but only online, not on store.

How sodding annoying is that?! And my goodness the selection usually makes me want to weep, black leggings and stripy top anyone? Or ‘hands off my bump!’ I’d like one that says: ‘If you touch me I will hurt you.’

I’m currently wearing a maternity top I brought in a sale because I needed something to hide my growing belly at work. It’s bloody awful, flowery and frills EVERYWHERE. I don’t need frills, I’m huge. Why would I want to add MORE volume to my physique? FRILLS!!

It also seems that you pay a premium for maternity clothes, some are exquisitely made with quality fabric and worth the money. Others are just expensive shite. For the next six months I will be unable to go clothes shopping. And when I drag my post baby body round the shops to boost my confidence in February, I’ll find that nowhere considers the post-baby bod.

I have found acceptable clothes online, but I can’t try them on, I have to wait for delivery, returning items is often a nightmare, every shop has a slightly different idea what size 12 is, at some point I won’t be a size 12 anymore (chipsticks are totally my jam. No matter how sick I’m feeling I can eat sackfuls of these vinigary bites of heaven) then the whole sizing issue starts again.

And I miss wandering round the shops, picking things up, sitting in a coffee shop with my bags of exciting bits! Shopping becomes another thing on a list of things I can’t do because I’m pregnant. Is it too much to ask if a shop has a maternity range that they sell in in-store too? Apparently it is.

If you need me, I’ll be sitting by a window remembering all the times I saw something I liked in a shop, brought it and took the whole experience for granted!

In other news:

Will is now confidently saying ‘naughty cats’ and ‘Marmite! Dindins!!’ Still point blank refuses to say ‘Captain’.

Marmite now thinks she has 473 dinners a day.

Chances of us having a new bathroom before baby comes are getting slimmer everyday.