Week 19: zzz September 18, 2007
I have reached a new low.
All the books tell you that the second trimester is when you glow (you sweat), your energy levels return to (somewhat) normal, you’re feeling great, blah, blah, fucking blah. I would like to meet these women, these women who glow with heavenly inward saintitudiness about their state of pregnancy and who haven’t stacked on any weight and still iron their sheets.
1. For about 10 days now I’ve been waking up anywhere between 2am and 4am and been completely unable to get back to sleep. I’ve tried every technique I know, all the while listening to The Beloved snuffle away deep in his slumber, of which I am deeply, deeply jealous and resentful. I just lie there, mind a-wandering, various earworms running constant loops through my head (Nick Cave’s “I Let Love In” is currently on fairly high rotation). The first few times this odd awakening occurred I became increasingly frustrated, as, let’s face it, nothing makes mama more grumpy than a lack of sleep. Now I have come to peace with the fact that this is APPARENTLY my body training me for night-time feeds, and given the size of this child already, I suppose I’d better get used to being awake and stone cold sober in every respect in the dark of night.
2. During one of my recent nocturnal ramblings, I stubbed my toe on the bottom edge of the couch and broke it. I have broken my toes before (attempting a Paula Abdul dance manouvre at age 14, I seem to recall) and they hurt. And the only thing that can be done is strapping, so hobble on I must. And hobble is the operative word because …
3. I have damaged my lower back somehow, either that or the kid has jammed its elbow into the back end of my cocyx, but whichever, BECAUSE I HURT. Sitting for too long, standing for too long, lying down for too long … it’s all the same. Nasty twinges that make me cry out in pain and surprise when I get up and especially when I bend over or bear weight on my right side. This has effectively sidelined me from the workforce, which isn’t great, but the fact of the matter is I can’t actually sit in a chair for longer than ten minutes without significant pain. Hot water bottles, ice packs, anti-inflammatories - nothing has made a speck of fucking difference to my world of pain. This situation is very frustrating as well as painful because it seems that there is nothing much I can do.
This is a classic example of not appreciating what you have until you don’t have it any more. My back has never been great but it’s got me through all kinds of motions, as it were, and now that I can’t use it properly I’d really like to.
In spite of - or perhaps because of - my back pain, I’ve been attending my local expectant mothers yoga class of a Thursday evening. The exercises are very gentle, and it has been excellent to meet some other local pregnant people and seasoned mothers heading into their second or third pregnancy. Now, I’m all for doing exercise and bumping up my pevlic floor muscles, but I’m not so much into the hugging my belly and singing to my unborn child. I’ll just close my eyes and sway a little, thanks, and take the odd peek here and there to check if anyone else is uncomfortable about the procession as I am.
We have our 20 week scan this Thursday and I am under strict instructions from The Mothership to get her a photo or two. These images are surprisingly cheap here (at least something in this country is cheap!!) - only a couple of pounds per image, so I think I’ll stock up on some for all the expectant grandmas and grandpas and possibly for the special aunties and uncles as well.
The Mothership lands on Friday night and Saturday we pack up to go to the south of France for an extremely well-earned two week holiday, but not before I insist that my mother hands over to me my long, long list of items she Must Bring From Australia As They Can’t Be Got Elsewhere. And yes, I know there’s the bloody internet but it’s more fun when you get these items as presents.
1. Bonds boyleg undies. M&S undies don’t cut it on an arse like mine.
2. Twisties, Burger Rings, and Samboy Barbecue chips. Oh! The sheer delicious cheesy taste of original flavour Twisties!!
3. Violet Crumble, Cherry Ripe, Kingston and Tic Toc biscuits.
4. The biggest jar of Vegemite she can get her hands on (they only sell the teeny-teeny jars up here, and I go through one of those a fortnight).
5. As many cloth nappies with velcro tabs that she can fit in her suitcase without going (too far) over her weight limit. At only $6.75 a piece I’ve suggested she should load up and we can just buy her all Mothership-type clothes she needs once she gets here.
So, after I’ve scoffed everything, the three of us will sight the white cliffs of Dover, be visiting a small town on the way called Arras, where my great-grandfather is buried; driving over the latest brightest shiniest and longest suspension bridge in the world; taking a day trip to Barcelona and visiting a place called Carcassonne, home of my favourite nerdy game called, unsurprisingly, Carcassonne.
If I’m not back posting by Friday this week, assume all has gone well and we are tramping gaily all over the sensibilities of the French and having a grand old time.
