... As in 'not long to go now?'
Or 'Hasn't this been a long week?'
The week started off pretty poorly. I had to go to my GP surgery on Monday for yet another blood test. I am not keen on needles but I suppose I've been jabbed so much this year it's all routine. At least I know where my good veins are if I ever decide to give up on life and become a junkie. Can't remember much else.. oh, yes, I went to see Suzy B and probably bored the tits off her with more of my outer musings on life and shizzle. I think all that stuff I wrote in the last post was still on my mind. She makes good food which I never knew before because we always eat takeaway when I see her. I want her to go on 'Masterchef'! I love Suzy, she's an amazing comedian and should be doing TV panel shows and live DVDs instead of people like Sarah 'unfunny' Millican or Jack 'only fit for the student union' Whitehall. It pains me to see talent idled by fear because I do exactly the same thing. A little bit more belief in myself and I'd be signing my books in Waterstone's on Oxford Street. On the other hand I admire her because she's bloody good at what she does and she does put herself out there sometimes, if not always for the right reasons.... ahem!
Tuesday I was at work minding my business and the phone rings at 8:50. It's the surgery. My results are back already (already?) and the Doctor wants to see me on Thursday morning. Oh. Right. Erm, the Doctor's surgery NEVER calls me. I have to call them or make appointments just to chat. Now recently I've taken a more laissez-faire attitude to my feelings and the actions surrounding this pregnancy, if only to stop me fretting and getting on Stu and everyone else's nerves (but mainly my own!), and because I don't know what's going to happen so it's better to loosen my ideal of having control over everything. But this threw me. Something must have happened, right? I already know what having low levels of platelets in my blood meant for me and giving birth. Maybe they were dangerously low? Maybe I would have to start a course of treatment? All this thinking left me very unsure, tired and apprehensive. Despite some very reassuring words from people on Facebook, I don't think I was happy to let the idea of doom go just yet.
That evening as I commuted home from work, I got off the tube at Piccadilly Circus to be met by a large group of tourists on the platform amongst the usual rush hour commuter throng. I had my headphones on and wearily made my way through the crowd. In London you either get aggressive and push your way through or you just flow and stop and kind of accept you're a bit of flotsam in a stream of humanity at that moment. I was too tired to be pushy so I stumbled through. Apparently this wasn't good enough for a lady in the group who decided her need to get on the train was greater than my need to just mind my business and walk. She put both her hands on my back and pushed me quite hard to move me out of the way. I stumbled a bit but didn't fall over. Now, this is London, folks. You either have an argument with a person which results in somebody telling someone else to go fuck themselves, or you walk off but throw dirty looks over your shoulder and then spend the next half an hour either telling your companion what you think of that person's mother or furiously jabbing your thoughts into a text/Facebook Status/Tweet. For some reason my brain immediately said "No, wait! Hold the fuck on! I'm 8 months pregnant! Who is this bitch? She's not getting away with that!" (Yes that was a lot of thinking for an 'immediate' thought, bear with me...) I turned around to see my assailant in between 2 other women who were still pushing to get on the train. Instinctively, my right hand raised up to shoulder level and I punched her. She turned slightly so what was going to be a full on chest hit ended up hitting her shoulder, but it was pretty bang on. She and the other 2 women she was gassing with all stopped what they were doing and looked at me with open mouthed shock. I glared for a split second then turned back and walked away, furiously flexing my fingers. I never thought about anyone else seeing me or challenging me, or even being followed. Nobody did. I was angry with myself for a minute for being violent, but then I realised I was quite happy. People, especially those who cross your path for a short period of time in life, think they can do what they like to you because they'll never see you again. I had let things like this (not always physical, more verbal abuse) slide in the past and had become docile and fearful of strangers because of it. Yes, this all sounds a bit silly, but it's true. I don't trust people I don't know, because I'm always waiting for the insult or ignorant silence. Waiting to feel like I'm not worthy of being around them. The physical act was wrong, but the clarity of my judgement made sense to me, in a weird way. I am a woman of my own making, and when I say I'm not to be messed with, I mean it! I do not give permission to other people to make me feel bad, worthless or any lesser of a human being.
Wednesday I went to work, was there for maybe 2 and half hours, but felt so drained and tired. I could barely keep my eyes open and my chest was hurting, not in a heartburn way either. I wanted to cry. I called my Team Leader and told him I was going home to sleep. So, that was Wednesday. Sleeping.
Thursday I was a bit more rested but still very tired. Stu had Thursday off so he accompanied me to the surgery to find out what was happening. Finally, I thought, I know what's going to happen and what I can do next. Except that nothing actually happened and I still didn't know what to do next. The doctor told us what we already knew; that my platelet levels were low (they had crept up slightly but it was still no where near the minimum) and I'll have to have another blood test in 3 weeks. There's no treatment for me to take, no diet or exercise I can do. I just have to sit and wait. If the levels still haven't risen by then, we go into Operation Free Francesca. Oh, and I should watch out for any bumps, bruises and unusual swelling. That's it. I was disappointed because I'd read enough to know there are treatments I can be given and this problem could be an indicator of a far greater issue (but I'm not going to think about that because it is just a pregnancy-related problem as my records show I've never had low levels of platelets before) and I was expecting a bit more than just 'Here's what you already know. You can't do anything about it.' Stu and I talked a lot on the way home and over our BLT baguettes. We drew up a Pros and Cons list and decided it would be best if I went on Maternity Leave sooner than I had planned. Little old me had thought I'd be all well and happy and make it through to 37-38 weeks without a hitch.., Yeah, of course. Nothing's ever that simple in my life, is it? Best laid plans...
I think work have been concerned about me still being in the building for a while now (not in a bad way) and I have felt a bit like there was a view that I shouldn't be staying on so long especially after the other 3 pregnant ladies left over a month ago. I wanted to be strong and I thought we would need the extra money. But I can't take commuting anymore, I'm obviously not going to be able to take a huge knock or a bump easily in case another snotty cow decides to get over-friendly with her hands, I hate being hot and dealing with other people's stupidity, and, most importantly... I am tired. So tired.
Friday was my day off. I slept uncomfortably during the night, it was too hot. I need to buy a fan. Then in between breakfast and lunch I slept more. Woke up, pottered around, picked up Stu so we could go to Sainsbury's and do our big shop, came back, ate, gave Stu a pedicure and now he's snoozing while I type this and think about crawling back to my favourite place.
Oh, and I won a small amount of money on the Euromillions again. Also found £20. I keep winning and finding bits of money. Do you think the Universe could find its way to giving me the destiny of winning £1 million? Please? Thanks.
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Monday, 25 July 2011
Death
Don't wanna waste no more time
Time's what we don't have
Everywhere I look, someone dies
Wonder when it's my turn?
- Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies, Biffy Clyro
Well here's a happy subject!
I think it's something that has been on everyone mind recently because of events in the past few days. The above song came on the ipod today when I was leaving work. I love the aptitude fate has for throwing appropriate music at you, especially lyrics. Now it's 3 in the morning and I've woken up after having a particularly ferocious nightmare about Facebook statuses and being cut open (I guess that's a latent caesarean fear code?) and a lovely bit of heartburn to boot. And bloody Amy Winehouse songs going around my head.
Amy, Amy, Amy. What the hell, man? Why be such a fucking cliche? I was so mad when I heard she'd died. For starters, the bitch still owes me £35 for that awful gig I went to of hers where she practically ignored the audience and slurred her way through every song on her album (including one of them twice). I promised myself that if I ever saw her out and about I'd ask her for it! Straight up. I've been joking to people recently that I'll chase her estate for it. But it pissed me off the most that it was all so... predictable. As yet, there has been no word on an official cause of death, but seeing as the media and anyone living under a rock knew she had severe addiction problems and it's pretty darn rare that 27 year old women just lie down in their homes and die, we've all gone straight to the drug conclusion. (I swear to God, if I read one more person reference the '27 Club'....) So, she's a dead junkie musician who died in her prime. Just like hundreds of others. I'm not going to bother referencing them here, go read Wikipedia. Any chance of you learning a lesson from others, Amy? All the bleeding heart "Poor Amy, she couldn't fight her demons, blah blah blah" crap annoys me, because she was a woman who was incredibly talented and afforded all the trappings of success and yet she still chose to run back to the baggy, pipe or needle. And all the people are mourning her because she's famous. 'A Wasted Talent'. If it was Karen Winehouse who lived on your road or block, spent her life pawning jewellery and drinking cheap lager and had 3 teeth BUT was an amazing singer, what would the story in the paper be? "Junkie found dead in flat". I loved her first album. She looked healthy, but obviously had issues even then. The second album was lauded and awarded all over the world. She had the support of family, friends, management, a record company (I know some people have drawn the conclusion of 'pressure from above to make money' but we the public cannot make a huge judgement on that, plus she did keep a low profile for a while to try and sort herself out and she could have easily bowed out gracefully if it was too much) and a loyal fan base, yet all that love, devotion and respect couldn't manifest itself into an ounce of respect for herself? I suppose as a human being I am more disappointed in another human being's decision to self-destruct rather than face up to life and show a bit of back bone. Plus I really have little sympathy or respect for junkies. They will lie, cheat, steal and sell their Granny's slippers to get that rock. There's been a lot of debate on statuses and groups on Facebook the past couple of days about addiction being an illness. I understand the basis of that theory and fully believe that we all have an addictive element to our personalities. Everyone has their 'thing'. However, when you choose to pick up those terrible, evil, life threatening and devastating habits that make no logical sense, and you continue them despite all the help in the world, you're making a conscious decision to ignore a better path, the people who love you and the ultimate treasure that is life. It's a shame that all those things were not enough for her and millions of people before her. I do not pity Amy Winehouse, but I do pity all that she left behind (even her father who I find a little dubious for trying to launch a career on his daughter's coat tails, but I do not doubt he loved her deeply and tried to do his best for her).
The thing that has irritated me the most about this story is that for 2 days before, a horrible event of mass murder was occurring in Norway. A man set a bomb in the Norwegian parliament building which killed 7 people, then went to an island and shot at least 85 people, many of them teenagers. He apparently acted alone and is going to make some grandiose statement today about why he did it. To be honest, mate, I'm not sure anyone cares why you did it, they just want to string you up! I've never been to Norway but seems to be a pretty laid back country. The people, especially their heads of state. have handled themselves beautifully in the face of what is essentially a Terrorist attack. To hear of a man randomly shooting innocent young teens is horrific in any country. But now the general public's focus seems to be (in this country at least) more "Famous Junkie Found Dead In Home" and less "Terrorist Act Leaves Many Dead and Whole Country Devastated", or "Famine Continues In East Africa Leaving Many Dying Of Starvation", or "Gunman Shoots 5 Dead In Texas After Argument In Skating Rink", or "35 Killed In Train Crash In China". There is so much death around at the moment, so much of it needless and of people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet the media and public want to focus on some idiot singer's long-term suicide? I find this abhorrent. If you check out the papers today, their lead story is mostly Amy with some more info on Norway. Go onto any news website, there's 3 or 4 angles on who feels sad about Amy and probably some good reportage on Norway, but not much else about others. A few of my Facebook friends have mentioned their sorrow about Norway, a couple have referenced other stories of loss but gosh my news feed blew up when old Ratty-Hair-Piece popped her clogs! I'm not comfortable with a general public who choose to view terrorism, famine and atrocities stories without passing thoughts or comment but will fall over themselves to express sympathy for a famous dead person. Any death is sad and all life is equal. Many would argue that it's the media who feed this insatiable desire for news about fame, wealth and downfall. Or are they sustaining a drug-like supply for the masses? I never buy 'celebrity' magazines and stopped buying newspapers a long time before phone hacking made people nervous, but there seems to be this weird demand for them. Why? What do I need to know about Coleen Rooney's weight loss? Or Dannii Minogue's skin care regime? Or anything about Kerry Katona? Is there an empty space in your life that needs filling with other people's bullshit?
I sometimes wonder what kind of world I will be bringing my child into. How will I be able to help her understand what is real and important? I guess she won't escape the vacuous nature of peer pressure and media ideas on beauty, fame, success and wealth, because she will have friends and peers who will believe in that. Parenting will be a hard job.
On a similar, but ever-so-slightly-more-positive note, I watched a documentary a couple of nights ago about a guy called Alex Lewis who spent 4 years of his young life battling cancer. Now, that is an illness. He did not choose his fate and yet he handled it with such dignity and joy. He tried to live the best life possible while he could. I did think this was going to be just another sad story, but I've learned more about how to live, enjoy and appreciate life from watching this young man and his family and friends than from any famous person's story. Happiness and Success are personal and subjective elements of your life, but I think many would agree that you would have a greater life following Alex's example. Google him, or go to the link (if it still works, they take videos down after a while) and watch this show.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b012p4v6/Alex_A_Life_Fast_Forward/
And so to bed...
Time's what we don't have
Everywhere I look, someone dies
Wonder when it's my turn?
- Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies, Biffy Clyro
Well here's a happy subject!
I think it's something that has been on everyone mind recently because of events in the past few days. The above song came on the ipod today when I was leaving work. I love the aptitude fate has for throwing appropriate music at you, especially lyrics. Now it's 3 in the morning and I've woken up after having a particularly ferocious nightmare about Facebook statuses and being cut open (I guess that's a latent caesarean fear code?) and a lovely bit of heartburn to boot. And bloody Amy Winehouse songs going around my head.
Amy, Amy, Amy. What the hell, man? Why be such a fucking cliche? I was so mad when I heard she'd died. For starters, the bitch still owes me £35 for that awful gig I went to of hers where she practically ignored the audience and slurred her way through every song on her album (including one of them twice). I promised myself that if I ever saw her out and about I'd ask her for it! Straight up. I've been joking to people recently that I'll chase her estate for it. But it pissed me off the most that it was all so... predictable. As yet, there has been no word on an official cause of death, but seeing as the media and anyone living under a rock knew she had severe addiction problems and it's pretty darn rare that 27 year old women just lie down in their homes and die, we've all gone straight to the drug conclusion. (I swear to God, if I read one more person reference the '27 Club'....) So, she's a dead junkie musician who died in her prime. Just like hundreds of others. I'm not going to bother referencing them here, go read Wikipedia. Any chance of you learning a lesson from others, Amy? All the bleeding heart "Poor Amy, she couldn't fight her demons, blah blah blah" crap annoys me, because she was a woman who was incredibly talented and afforded all the trappings of success and yet she still chose to run back to the baggy, pipe or needle. And all the people are mourning her because she's famous. 'A Wasted Talent'. If it was Karen Winehouse who lived on your road or block, spent her life pawning jewellery and drinking cheap lager and had 3 teeth BUT was an amazing singer, what would the story in the paper be? "Junkie found dead in flat". I loved her first album. She looked healthy, but obviously had issues even then. The second album was lauded and awarded all over the world. She had the support of family, friends, management, a record company (I know some people have drawn the conclusion of 'pressure from above to make money' but we the public cannot make a huge judgement on that, plus she did keep a low profile for a while to try and sort herself out and she could have easily bowed out gracefully if it was too much) and a loyal fan base, yet all that love, devotion and respect couldn't manifest itself into an ounce of respect for herself? I suppose as a human being I am more disappointed in another human being's decision to self-destruct rather than face up to life and show a bit of back bone. Plus I really have little sympathy or respect for junkies. They will lie, cheat, steal and sell their Granny's slippers to get that rock. There's been a lot of debate on statuses and groups on Facebook the past couple of days about addiction being an illness. I understand the basis of that theory and fully believe that we all have an addictive element to our personalities. Everyone has their 'thing'. However, when you choose to pick up those terrible, evil, life threatening and devastating habits that make no logical sense, and you continue them despite all the help in the world, you're making a conscious decision to ignore a better path, the people who love you and the ultimate treasure that is life. It's a shame that all those things were not enough for her and millions of people before her. I do not pity Amy Winehouse, but I do pity all that she left behind (even her father who I find a little dubious for trying to launch a career on his daughter's coat tails, but I do not doubt he loved her deeply and tried to do his best for her).
The thing that has irritated me the most about this story is that for 2 days before, a horrible event of mass murder was occurring in Norway. A man set a bomb in the Norwegian parliament building which killed 7 people, then went to an island and shot at least 85 people, many of them teenagers. He apparently acted alone and is going to make some grandiose statement today about why he did it. To be honest, mate, I'm not sure anyone cares why you did it, they just want to string you up! I've never been to Norway but seems to be a pretty laid back country. The people, especially their heads of state. have handled themselves beautifully in the face of what is essentially a Terrorist attack. To hear of a man randomly shooting innocent young teens is horrific in any country. But now the general public's focus seems to be (in this country at least) more "Famous Junkie Found Dead In Home" and less "Terrorist Act Leaves Many Dead and Whole Country Devastated", or "Famine Continues In East Africa Leaving Many Dying Of Starvation", or "Gunman Shoots 5 Dead In Texas After Argument In Skating Rink", or "35 Killed In Train Crash In China". There is so much death around at the moment, so much of it needless and of people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet the media and public want to focus on some idiot singer's long-term suicide? I find this abhorrent. If you check out the papers today, their lead story is mostly Amy with some more info on Norway. Go onto any news website, there's 3 or 4 angles on who feels sad about Amy and probably some good reportage on Norway, but not much else about others. A few of my Facebook friends have mentioned their sorrow about Norway, a couple have referenced other stories of loss but gosh my news feed blew up when old Ratty-Hair-Piece popped her clogs! I'm not comfortable with a general public who choose to view terrorism, famine and atrocities stories without passing thoughts or comment but will fall over themselves to express sympathy for a famous dead person. Any death is sad and all life is equal. Many would argue that it's the media who feed this insatiable desire for news about fame, wealth and downfall. Or are they sustaining a drug-like supply for the masses? I never buy 'celebrity' magazines and stopped buying newspapers a long time before phone hacking made people nervous, but there seems to be this weird demand for them. Why? What do I need to know about Coleen Rooney's weight loss? Or Dannii Minogue's skin care regime? Or anything about Kerry Katona? Is there an empty space in your life that needs filling with other people's bullshit?
I sometimes wonder what kind of world I will be bringing my child into. How will I be able to help her understand what is real and important? I guess she won't escape the vacuous nature of peer pressure and media ideas on beauty, fame, success and wealth, because she will have friends and peers who will believe in that. Parenting will be a hard job.
On a similar, but ever-so-slightly-more-positive note, I watched a documentary a couple of nights ago about a guy called Alex Lewis who spent 4 years of his young life battling cancer. Now, that is an illness. He did not choose his fate and yet he handled it with such dignity and joy. He tried to live the best life possible while he could. I did think this was going to be just another sad story, but I've learned more about how to live, enjoy and appreciate life from watching this young man and his family and friends than from any famous person's story. Happiness and Success are personal and subjective elements of your life, but I think many would agree that you would have a greater life following Alex's example. Google him, or go to the link (if it still works, they take videos down after a while) and watch this show.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b012p4v6/Alex_A_Life_Fast_Forward/
And so to bed...
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Reboot
Well hello blogger!
I am terrible. I enjoy writing so much, especially blogs because as soon as I start typing a raw emotion flows from my fingertips into the keyboard and it really does feel like I'm talking. I like to let this flow.
I have, however, become complacent. My hormones have not helped and I have to recognise this as a fact; pregnancy hormones can really mess with your head. It's like a recurring, more frequent PMT. I become despairing and lazy and apathetic. I sometimes forget about the beautiful thing that Stu and I have created that's lying peacefully in my midriff, and everything small and insignificant becomes some kind of 'film protagonist' struggle of life and death. In my current state of mind, I know that this is poor.
Don't get me wrong, I had some feelings like this even before I became pregnant. I know I've had mild depression in the past. It took a lot of soul searching and reading and good energy for me to realise what is and is not important, who to rely on and what I really wanted from life. My current feeling is that, despite the increased pressure of thinking about a baby and my mood swings, I am on the right track and this is always going to be a learning curve. None of us are perfect though we strive to be. We measure ourselves against other people's experiences and are taught that the do, be, eat, talk, think better than someone, and to have more, is all that matters. This is balls.
So what I'm trying to do now is be a bit more insular. Not in a negative way, I would never consider myself to be merely an island or act so aloof as to alienate people. More that I am trying to rely on my own energy and feelings about things. I was never a sheep anyway. I had a lot of trouble when growing up trying to understand why it was so important to be part of a crowd, do the same things, wear the same clothes and all that nonsense. I try now to draw power from the right people and situations, think about what I really want from this time we have and how I want my life to be. I've cut a lot of people and things out now that I don't believe are beneficial. I recognise and accept my emotions. I try to think more positively and laugh every day (the one thing we all want ultimately is happiness, right?). My only problems now are procrastination and impatience! Frustration gets the better of me at low points.
All this is making me view the pregnancy, and, more importantly, my impending motherhood and daughter-to-be, in a much healthier light. Where I was fearful and apprehensive, even naive, now I want to experience these things with vigour, examine them, test my strength and appreciate every minute. When my mind goes back to 'shallow mode' and I am moaning about some pain or telling someone about a horror story I read about a caesarean, it's only a couple of quick snaps away from me reminding myself of how lucky I am, or that so many women have been through this more than once and lived to tell a tale of happy they are to have their children in their lives. The recent drought and famine in Kenya and Ethiopia have also helped to sharpen my mind. Women there are walking for 4 weeks with themselves, their husbands and kids suffering malnutrition to camps to get some food or medical aid. Being beaten up or robbed on the way. Leaving less strong family members behind. I think my tubby arse can get out of bed for work, stretch my legs for some yoga or make it down to Sainsbury's to buy groceries without it being an issue!
The mind workout stuff is hard to get to grips with at first, of course, and I will always fall back a little and get all uppity and whiny. Practice makes perfect I suppose. It is so important for me to be at peace with myself before I bring this child into the world otherwise I will not be able to pass on the strength and wisdom of my mother and grandmother to her which is what I really want to do as a mother.
Oh, and I need to write more often. Do some more progress reports! I am 31 weeks and 2 days now. Francesca is getting bigger and quite wriggly at times, but I still don't have a massive bump. Definitely showing though. Heartburn is a real bitch. I was all about Rennie but another lady who's already given birth suggested the absolute JOY that is Gaviscon! Man that stuff is good. Still get quite tired. It's nice to rest but I really don't want to spend all my time sleeping. I just had some holiday from work which was cool and to get back into the routine of commuting and being at work was a bit strange at first. I have just over 6 weeks left until I go on maternity if little miss doesn't decide to show up too early. It's going to be a long, busy summer!
I am terrible. I enjoy writing so much, especially blogs because as soon as I start typing a raw emotion flows from my fingertips into the keyboard and it really does feel like I'm talking. I like to let this flow.
I have, however, become complacent. My hormones have not helped and I have to recognise this as a fact; pregnancy hormones can really mess with your head. It's like a recurring, more frequent PMT. I become despairing and lazy and apathetic. I sometimes forget about the beautiful thing that Stu and I have created that's lying peacefully in my midriff, and everything small and insignificant becomes some kind of 'film protagonist' struggle of life and death. In my current state of mind, I know that this is poor.
Don't get me wrong, I had some feelings like this even before I became pregnant. I know I've had mild depression in the past. It took a lot of soul searching and reading and good energy for me to realise what is and is not important, who to rely on and what I really wanted from life. My current feeling is that, despite the increased pressure of thinking about a baby and my mood swings, I am on the right track and this is always going to be a learning curve. None of us are perfect though we strive to be. We measure ourselves against other people's experiences and are taught that the do, be, eat, talk, think better than someone, and to have more, is all that matters. This is balls.
So what I'm trying to do now is be a bit more insular. Not in a negative way, I would never consider myself to be merely an island or act so aloof as to alienate people. More that I am trying to rely on my own energy and feelings about things. I was never a sheep anyway. I had a lot of trouble when growing up trying to understand why it was so important to be part of a crowd, do the same things, wear the same clothes and all that nonsense. I try now to draw power from the right people and situations, think about what I really want from this time we have and how I want my life to be. I've cut a lot of people and things out now that I don't believe are beneficial. I recognise and accept my emotions. I try to think more positively and laugh every day (the one thing we all want ultimately is happiness, right?). My only problems now are procrastination and impatience! Frustration gets the better of me at low points.
All this is making me view the pregnancy, and, more importantly, my impending motherhood and daughter-to-be, in a much healthier light. Where I was fearful and apprehensive, even naive, now I want to experience these things with vigour, examine them, test my strength and appreciate every minute. When my mind goes back to 'shallow mode' and I am moaning about some pain or telling someone about a horror story I read about a caesarean, it's only a couple of quick snaps away from me reminding myself of how lucky I am, or that so many women have been through this more than once and lived to tell a tale of happy they are to have their children in their lives. The recent drought and famine in Kenya and Ethiopia have also helped to sharpen my mind. Women there are walking for 4 weeks with themselves, their husbands and kids suffering malnutrition to camps to get some food or medical aid. Being beaten up or robbed on the way. Leaving less strong family members behind. I think my tubby arse can get out of bed for work, stretch my legs for some yoga or make it down to Sainsbury's to buy groceries without it being an issue!
The mind workout stuff is hard to get to grips with at first, of course, and I will always fall back a little and get all uppity and whiny. Practice makes perfect I suppose. It is so important for me to be at peace with myself before I bring this child into the world otherwise I will not be able to pass on the strength and wisdom of my mother and grandmother to her which is what I really want to do as a mother.
Oh, and I need to write more often. Do some more progress reports! I am 31 weeks and 2 days now. Francesca is getting bigger and quite wriggly at times, but I still don't have a massive bump. Definitely showing though. Heartburn is a real bitch. I was all about Rennie but another lady who's already given birth suggested the absolute JOY that is Gaviscon! Man that stuff is good. Still get quite tired. It's nice to rest but I really don't want to spend all my time sleeping. I just had some holiday from work which was cool and to get back into the routine of commuting and being at work was a bit strange at first. I have just over 6 weeks left until I go on maternity if little miss doesn't decide to show up too early. It's going to be a long, busy summer!
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