39 weeks.

I’m officially 39 weeks. And I’m so bloody ready to have this bab. Everything is a struggle at the moment. Standing up, sitting down, getting up le stairs, getting down le stairs. Being patient. It’s all getting too hard.

To top it all Me, Hubs AND the Bald Kitten all have stinking colds. The Bald Kitten regularly has a coughing fit in the early hours, and last night hubs was sort of but not screaming in his sleep. I can’t really explain the sound. It was both creepy and annoying. Hence the exclamation ‘Kevin! Stop making that noise you sound like a fucking ghost!’

He jolted awake and said something about not being able to help it as he was asleep. Shortly after this the Bald Kitten did his best impression of a poor Victorian, coughing his way to an early grave in some grotty workhouse. I got him a drink and climbed into his bed whereupon he enthusiastically explained that Santa has lost his magic star and the pups are going to help him. If he’s not watching sodding Paw Patrol he’s telling us about it.

The boy soothed back to sleep I crept back into my own bed and actually fall asleep. Although nearly cried when what felt like only five minutes later I was woken by the Bald Kitten because daddy was going to work and I need to be up so we don’t get a repeat of last weeks ‘Vinegar gate’.

There was a new born at football today. Will was fascinated. Which naturally meant I had to take steps to stop him poking it. I actually felt my insides tug when I gazed at the teeny baby. Although fuck you insides!! This could be us if you get your arse in gear and start labouring!

I *should* be starting dinner about now but ‘I can’t be arsed to do it’ is a massive understatement. Thank goodness hubs and I made all those meals for when baby arrives, who knew I could be organised?

In other news:

Le preggo ball is inflated, I’m ready to bounce this baby out!

I’m feeling rather fragile so am not enjoying the musical accompaniment to the telly. (The boy smacking hell out of a drum.)

We’ve not had snow here yet and I’m making sacrifices to the gods to ensure it doesn’t. I am NOT going to give birth stranded on the M6 in a snow drift.

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Nesting

It’s safe to say I’m nesting.

I made the mistake of watching the Marie Kondo series on Netflix and have been picking all sorts up all day to see if they spark joy. Most of my clothes do not, but I’ve only got rid of a few things as I’ve no idea what’s going to fit once Little Pea makes an appearance. (Although I imagine not a lot). My cats spark joy, except whichever little shit was sick on the sofa…

It’s my first official day of maternity leave today. I celebrated with a bath and a nap which pretty much guarantees I won’t sleep tonight. The house is in good order but keeping it clean and tidy with a toddler is definitely tricky. The Bald Kitten can make a mess in no time. It’s actually quite astonishing how quickly he can undo half an hours work.

I have to say, although I’m nesting I’m not quite as extreme as I was last time. (Although there is two weeks for that change…) About half an hour before we had to leave for my induction appointment I decided the doors upstairs were filthy and needed to be scrubbed!! I’d washed the sofa and it was less than an hour after getting him home that the Bald Kitten weed all over it. Who knew newborns had so much range! The kitchen had been gutted of all its miscellanies and the cupboards all scrubbed. I might get round to the kitchen cupboards again but I imagine the Bald Kitten will want to ‘help’. I’m pretty sure the stress of that could bring on labour. (So maybe I’ll give it go.)

As much as I’m eager to meet baby, I have to keep reminding myself that when baby comes everything will be different. Something I never appreciated before the Bald Kitten. I never cherished the time left where I could be truly alone. Now I have so little time just me and the boy. I can’t help but worry how he’ll feel with baby number two. We’ve planned to do things as a family that he’ll enjoy. Thomas Land, a castle, rides on his new bike. But I haven’t factored in my ability to go to these places having not long had a baby.

I suppose it’s only natural to worry. As a mum, I can’t bear the thought of my boy being sad. But we’re preparing him, we talk about the baby, we’ve shown him all the baby things, I’ve shown him the Nursery we’ve played with his baby together using some of the toys for the actual baby. He’s as ready as he’ll ever be. And the bike really should help sway him.

In other news:

Two weeks to go. Have I had any indication baby might come early? No. Absolutely not.

The boy made ‘Bird pies’ with NannyGran today. They were actually those lardy seed cakes you make for the birds but you can’t say the ‘c’ word around the boy if you don’t have cake to give him.

Is it a developmental stage when your child can alert you to the presence of cat sick?

The big soft play fail of 2019.

Well, here we are 8 days into the new year and we’ve has our first incident.

I’ve been meaning to see the bestie for a while so we decided soft play would be the place to do it. Which actually means we have lots of half conversations and mid sentence stops in order to ensure the kids don’t do themselves a mischief. I have to say bestie was an absolute trooper as there were many parts of soft play that I simply didn’t fit into/through. So she was running around after two.

The Bald kitten decided he wanted to play in the more grown up side. So I was waddling around after him, and we found a big slide! Down we went. It was lots of fun and had bumps in it. ‘Let’s do it again!’ The Bald Kitten cried in excitement. So off we trotted. But the thing about soft play, especially large ones, is that they are labyrinths! So when we got to the top, we didn’t find the big slide with the bumps in it. We found a curly tube slide. Helicopter mum whispered in my ear ‘Don’t let him go down that!’ The part of me that is desperate to be less helicoptery asked the Bald Kitten, ‘Do you want to go down that slide?’

‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!’

I was torn, should I go down with him? But I’m practically 9 months pregnant, I can’t put him on my lap, what if I bump tummy. So I let him go.

Mistake.

It was hard to see from the outside just how steep and twisty the silde actually was. But as soon as The boy pushed himself off, he regretted it. I heard the squeaking of his hands on the plastic as he tried to stop himself. I heard a bump and screaming. He was bloody terrified. I’m calling down the tube ‘keep sliding darling!’ Thinking if he’s stopped halfway down how the fuck am I going to get him out. I felt panicked. He was balling and calling for me. And I’m lost at the top of a fucking soft play maze. Luckily, bestie just happened to be in the perfect place at the perfect time. At the bottom of the twisty bastard. She scooped up the boy and cuddled him whilst he wailed for me. I yelled down the slide ‘Is he out Katy?!’

‘He’s out!’

I flew round to get to him with some hefty kicks from Little Pea, it think he/she was saying ‘You better not do anything like this to me when I’m out you neglectful cow!’

I got to the boy and we had cuddles and reassurance that he did not have to go down that slide again. I brought him some Quavers so he could have a snack and calm down. It was whilst I was paying I noticed the big red mark on his head. It seems he had a bump on the noggin on the way down.

The staff fetched an ice pack and I filled in an accident form. He sat having his crispy cheesy snack whilst I held the large blue ice pack to his head. Definitely feeling judged.

Definitely.

I think we’re going to have a nice bruise as a souvenir. A bad mum badge, if you like. And I’m thinking maybe helicoptering is the way forward.

In other news:

I had Braxton Hicks last night. I remembered how labour is like this only much, much more painful and started regretting some life choices.

I need to get an undated birth playlist but this means using iTunes. My nemisis.

I think it’s high time Daddy had the soft play experience.

35 weeks.

Well today I am officially 35 weeks! I would like to be writing this after a good night’s sleep but apparently that’s not possible at the moment so I’m grumpy and fidgety and awake. I’ve been laying in bed getting more and more pissed off about the fact I am not unconscious so have come downstairs where I am just as pissed off.

Today has been productive. I’ve made some freezer dinners ready for when me and hubs are so tired we can’t tell our arse from our elbow, I’ve washed approximately 2 tonnes of neutral 0-3 months baby clothes and picked the outfits for baby to pack in the hospital bag. I’ve got NOTHING for me in there but baby has some outfits. No nappies. But clothes. It’s dawning on me despite doing this once before I’ve got no idea what to put in.

I’ve also sorted the Kallax units in the living room and the bald kitten’s bedroom to make room for the mountain of new toys he got for Xmas.

I’ve cleaned the bathroom too.

You’d think I’d be able to sleep. Yet here we are. Awake.

You may remember a few weeks ago I mentioned my iron was low. I had a call from the Drs today to say I’ve been prescribed iron tablets so I’m guessing those levels haven’t gone up. Like an absolute twat I googled ‘low iron in pregnancy’ and got a horror show of results; early baby, low birth weight and problems throughout childhood were the ones that stick in my mind the most. But rationally I’m sure that was for extended anaemia so I need to put it to the back of my mind. If there’s something I need to know I’ll probably get a call from the midwife tomorrow. I imagine I’ll have to have ANOTHER blood test. I really should get over my needle phobia.

I’m not looking forward to iron supplements as I may have mentioned before pregnancy is the time my haemorrhoids like to shine and the absolute LAST thing I need is harder poo. This was an issue after having the Bald Kitten, I needed iron because of blood-loss so was also give laxatives and stool softener so I didn’t do any more damage to my poor war torn downstairs. Talk about a lot to look forward to.

So the third trimester is definitely the longest. I’m tired, grumpy, huge and trying to be super organised. A skill that has never come naturally to me. And although inside I’m doing a little dance because I’m telling myself I’ve got five weeks left it could easily be 7. The Bald Kitten was in no hurry to be out and Little Pea has been rather a pain in the arse throughout this pregnancy so I’m not expecting much to happen on my due date. Which is good as I’ve booked a nail appointment.

In other news:

I found Captain’s favourite pink mousey today. He’s been acting like a kitten chasing it round, bashing into Marms as he’s rolling around on the floor killing it and stealth attacking the shit out of it.

Little Pea’s bum is really poking out of my tummy. I can’t wait to meet that little bum.

My ginormo knickers are now tight. Bad times.

Post baby body blues.

This may seem premature as I still have 8 weeks to go before my postpartum body is unveiled, but I can’t help but worry about it.

I know all the talk about tiger stripes and your body having done something amazing, but that doesn’t help my self esteem when I’m trying to tuck my saggy tummy into something I wore pre-pregnancy. I didn’t recognise my body after the Bald Kitten. There was fat where it has never been before and my skin was papery and wrinkled, it didn’t look like skin. And certainly not my skin.

We had a wedding to go to 9 days after I gave birth. I remember trying clothes on and locking myself in the bathroom to cry. Optimistically trying to get something new to wear and finding nothing but tight bodycon dresses in the shops.

My boobs changed too. Saggier, and one of my areolas changed shape and it’s never gone back to how it was before. Of all the parts of my body, I quite liked my boobs. Not anymore. They’re not mine. Mine have been taken and replaced with something different, less symmetrical and less perky than what was there before.

Trying to get to grips with this now alien body and my brand new role as parent was tough. And there is pressure to be perfect from well everywhere. Showering wasn’t always something I had the energy for and drying my hair to find patches missing round the hairline and a tub full hair that used to be on my head was beyond depressing.

There is no secret to losing weight. Eat well and move your arse. The issue is when you’re exhausted and at the beck and call of a tiny human the food you shovel into your mouth ‘ain’t usually weight loss friendly. At least having to feed the Bald Kitten will prevent me from living off coffee and pretzels. Mmmm pretzels.

We all want to bounce back into shape, and some a lucky enough to do that. I’m just not one of them. I’m worried about post delivery aches and pains too. Last time it was bloody awful. I’ve been told due to my healing, I have the same chance of tearing as a first time mum. And whilst I didn’t feel it at the time. I certainly did afterwards.

I suppose there is no point worrying about this, what will happen will happen. I’ll start some sort of diet in March or April and try to be a gentle on myself and my new, weird saggy body in the meantime.

In other other news:

The Bald Kitten was gently stroking my hair yesterday morning. I thought it was lovely until I realised he was rubbing my tummy butter all over my hair.

I’m too tired and pregnant to be patient. I’ve had to have words with both myself and the Bald Kitten for saying ‘Fuck sake’. Naturally he won’t repeat any new words I say over and frigging over but I utter ‘fuck sake’ after he rams his sodding car into my foot and he repeats that clear as a sodding bell.

We have no milk and the boy keeps demanding wheetabix. He’s in pants as I’m trying to do the potty training ‘we’ were supposed to start Friday. The first day nappy free is not a good day to go to the shop. If he asks me for wheetabix again he’s going to learn some more words he’s not allowed to say.

I. Just. Want. Sleep.

I feel like I’m being tortured. I’m not sure how much longer I can go on.

I just want sleep.

Recently, sleep has not been a thing for me. And although I’m writing this and it’s not quite midnight, last night it was gone half two before I could sleep.

I’m knackered. I’m on the verge of tears and yet here I am awake. And pissed off about it.

I’ve been tossing and turning since I got into bed. Which isn’t exactly easy when you’re 32 weeks pregnant. And because I’m 32 weeks pregnant, rolling over and back again has brought on indigestion. Having swallowed heartburn relief I’m on the sofa sulking. Thank Zeus I’ve only got two working days left, I can’t live on this ‘sleep’ pattern and work too. But honestly the thought of spending the next 8 weeks like this fills me with dread. I find myself hoping Little Pea comes early, but late enough for an early birth not to have any adverse effects.

Incidentally Little Pea seems to be having a right old time inside. So to accompany my insomnia and heartburn are some (often painful) jabs to the side, ribs and foof area. (Seriously, what is going on in there?!)

Last night I had Marmite for company, but only after the little shit threw up on the carpet. She purred and snuggled and stared up at me adoringly. Some people might call that unconditional love. It isn’t. I’m pretty sure as she gazed at me with her big cat eyes she was thinking about how long she’d wait after I died before she’d start eating me. I reckon not long. I’ve had lots of nips off her recently. Again some would label it affection. Nope. she’s seen how fat I’ve got and is just trying to find out how tender I am.

But she’s not here. So maybe I’ll see if I can order a gallon of lavender oil off eBay and pour it all over the bedroom. I could get an air-fix or Lego Hogwarts to do when everyone else is sleeping (BASTARDS). Although I’m too tired to concentrate on anything but not tired enough to sleep. Go figure. I sure as hades can’t.

Anyway, if I hadn’t already decided two was the magic number this is definitely a sign that I can not be pregnant again. I can’t handle it. And if I so much as ‘awwww’ at another newborn (apart from my own squishy) slap me. Hard.

I weeks. I can do this but mainly because I have to. It’s not like I can detach my bump and give it to someone else for a night shift. I can last 8 weeks without going completely insane.

Probably.

In other news:

Our house is looking very festive, so I have lots of nice things to stare at with my blood shot eyes.

Hubs and I will be carefully filling in our birth plan over the next couple of weeks. I’m not sure why though. I’m quite sure (due to unforeseen circumstances) NOTHING happened as we’d planned last time. (I don’t even think it was read…)

The boy has a large tub of animal sponges (my mum was going to throw them out so I took them for our craft box). He is OBSESSED with them and has been carrying them round the house. And sprinkling them about. He even took the tub to bed with him.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…

Dec the halls! Hark the herald! Eat all the Quality Street! It’s Christmas! I love this festive time of the year, beautiful lights brighten up my evening commute, supermarkets stock more cheese than usual and everywhere you go you hear the Christmas hits!

I put my tree up today. I’ve been itching to do it for a while but wanted to get a work event out the way first so I could relax.

I pictured an idyllic afternoon of artfully placing baubles with the Bald Kitten. I’m not sure he could have been less bothered. He put one bauble on the tree and continued to watch Paw Patrol.

My plan for tomorrow is to hand make cards for the family. I have a feeling it’s not going to go how I imagine. I think by the time hubs gets home there’ll be paint everywhere but on the cards and I’ll be crying and vowing NEVER to go on Pinterest again.

Bedtime is a sodding nightmare. I dread it. I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep. I just can’t get comfortable it’s like torture. I try staying up late but it doesn’t help. It’s making my patience practically non-existent, especially when hubs keeps doing annoying things like breathing and chewing.

My nipples are now brown but I still haven’t got that line thingy down my tummy. I seem to remember having it by now last time. I can’t see my feet (or my fanny) and it’s time for hubs to get on toenail painting duty. Which I’m sure he’s eager to get started on account of how nice I’ve been and will be over the next two months. Again anyone suggesting lack of sleep is just prep for baby will get a throat punch. I’ll sleep like a log when baby is born. Just not for long periods of time.

At least now when I come downstairs to be awake and cry about being awake (it’s happened several times) I’ve got a nice tree to look at.

In other news:

Marms has spent the day sleeping on our bed and scowling at us whenever we have the audacity to enter our own room. The little shit also got paw prints all over my nice shiny bathroom.

Turning off all the sets of lights I’ve put up takes about 20 minutes.

Two weeks left at work!