Week 16: cartwheel express August 25, 2007

Dear bubbarooni,

I do believe this is the week in which I have first felt thy movements within. All the women I know who’ve been pregnant have told me to look out for a weird sort of fluttering in my lower stomach area, which is kind of what you (occasionally) feel like at the moment.

But to tell the absolute truth, I think you kindasorta probably jabbed me with your foot, or your elbow that one time. Because it wasn’t really butterflies in there. It was a fairly solid poke on the insides.

I am assuming from that poke that you are beginning your warm-up exercises for your moshpit dance-fest which will come in later months. At the moment I am finding this kinda cute. I expect it will be less so when it’s 2am and I want you to turn the music down in there so I can get some sleep.

Since that one jab to my insides I have become convinced that every single internal movement in my lower torso must be you moving about. Since that one jab there’s been a bout or two of indigestion, a spot of trapped wind and some possible womb expansion, but further jabs and pokes haven’t really announced their presence just yet. There have been some butterflies, though.

That doesn’t mean you’re just loafing around in there treating the place like a hotel, of course. In fact, we’ve been working closely on getting you some eyelashes and fingernails organised, and trying not to worry about the fact that you can already suck your thumb (IMAGINE THE ORTHODONTICS BILL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME ALREADY?). I don’t know about you, but this process is proving rather exhausting seeing as it’s running alongside my other major project, yunno, working a full time job.

According to most of the pregnancy calendars, this is about the time that my stomach is supposed to pop out slightly and I actually look Proper Preggers. Due to my hormonally based cravings for lemon drizzle cake, steak pasties and fish and chips, I’ve managed to look four months pregnant since about week eight, a week characterised not only by my capacity to cry at the sight of another baby but by Certain Other People tutting about how I was letting myself go (as I tucked into another pastie).

So now I look as fat as I did in week eight, but now it’s just a slightly more structured fat. But I can clutch at my ever-expanding belly anxiously as I board trains and know that I will get a seat close to the door facing the way the train is moving. Swings and roundabouts.

I have started doing some research into what exactly we’re going to stick your bum into once you’re born. I have a pathological dislike of disposable nappies, for any number of reasons, not least of all the fact that they are causing further strain on our already overburdened-by-modern-industrial-technology planet.

Then there is the false economy aspect. Lemme tell ya, there’s nothing like having a Scot for a mother when it comes to sniffing out the bargains and the rip offs. Disposables are total rip offs. Let’s do some sums, eh?

1 x pack of disposable nappies: £10

1 X pack per week (conservative non-parent estimate) X 52 weeks: £520

Add another year or so until you learn to walk on your own two feet and use the toilet at your OWN office instead of smelling up ours: £520

Total: £1040.

A thousand bloody pounds. Your father and I could go on two holidays for that.

Case for reusables (not factoring in washing costs):

1 X pack with 15 expandable-into-toddlerhood nappies, waterproof covers, liners and bag: £155.

That’s it. Case closed!

In other less boring growed up economic news, I have started swimming again, which has been excellent. I swam a lot when I was younger, and it’s like riding a bike - you don’t ever really forget how to swim, even when it’s been about a decade between pool visits. I lasted about 40 minutes of close to non-stop easy laps, which is excellent for someone who gets completely puffed going up the one flight of stairs to our apartment. I’ve even bought pregnancy bathers, so I can continue this exercisey trend right up until you and I meet for the first time in the birthing pool. The bathers are utterly ginormous, the biggest bathers I’ve ever worn, and they even come with this special rouched (sp?) bit around my tummy to incorporate your growing in there.

Yep, you’re really in there. Wow.

Weeks 13-15: woops August 17, 2007

Hello sproglet.

I am tired.

Number of times, on average, I wee during the night: 2-3

Number of hours, on average, that I lie awake at night with far too many thoughts after visits to the toilet: 1-2

Average waking hour, regardless of above, or of the fact it’s THE FUCKING WEEKEND: 6am

Now the sickness has worn off, I find myself in this weird alternation between extreme exhaustion and having somewhat average reserves of energy (a big improvement from the first few weeks).

The other week in honour of your father’s birthday I drank a bottle of cider in about two mouthfuls. They were the tastiest, bestest two mouthfuls of alcohol I’ve ever drunk, and I say that even after experiencing the ultimate Pan Galactic Gargleblaster at The Firm in 1990 for half price.

On top of all this weird energy rollercoaster, I have started seeing the best in people and thinking nice thoughts about virtually everybody (excluding the motherfuckers who smoke while they’re walking). This goes beyond disconcerting for a deeply hardened cynic. I have lost my edge. I am blaming you, but in a strange way I don’t actually care.

Apparently I am supposed to be able to feel you moving about in there, but so far I can’t really tell if it’s wind or my uterus generally becoming more unwieldy. Still, it’s exciting to think that soon I’ll be able to feel this little alien within. Crazy.

Time for a nap.