So, 16 weeks down, 24-ish to go. And about 20 more weeks of work. And 8 weeks till I go on my holliers. And another 8 weeks of work left when I come back from holidays. (I was going to work out the days but reckoned that I would only put myself in a bad mood). For a woman who hated maths in school I do an awful lot of counting when I am pregnant.
It’s funny, but while I talk the good talk about enjoying the moment – carpe diem and all that, I spend most of my time waiting for the next phase. I’m the same with my little girl… I know some mothers regret each passing stage, and hate the thought of time passing. Not me – bring it on I say. When she was a baby I couldn’t wait for her to roll, then sit, then walk, then talk. So in effect, I am waiting for her to get a decent job and maybe marry and have her own family. If she wants of course. No pressure. (Did I mention that she is 18 months?)
With this rather impatient approach to life, I have my poor husband driven mad. No sooner was I pregnant than I was talking about the birth – of the next baby that is, not the one I am currently pregnant on. “So I think we should have a gap of at least 2 years between number 2 and number 3” says I. “Errr can we just focus on this pregnancy for now love” says he. “Of course” says I, “But I am just thinking that it would be the ideal gap”… And while I do shut up, my mind is whirring away thinking about when we would need to start trying if we were to have a gap of 2 years again, what car we would need, whether the buggy will last that long….
Anyway, to move away from the planned 3rd child, and to focus on the current one – which after all, is why I am here writing this – happily all is well. I made a solemn vow that I would not moan through this pregnancy, and I intend to stick to it. So even if I do have heartburn, and I think my sciatica is making an appearance, and I am still knackered, not a word of complaint will you read from me. I may mention these things in passing, and discuss certain aspects in an objective manner but I certainly won’t malinger.
Speaking of heartburn (in a detached and non-moany way), I must say gaviscon is an amazing substance – albeit one with a disgusting taste. I have bottles of it in strategic spots all over the place (home, office, car, handbag) – kind of like an alcoholic but without the secrecy. The only problem is that the effect doesn’t last so you have to keep drinking it – again like alcohol (strange but oddly appropriate as a comparison). So it is crucial to have a bottle or two about your person at all times. I got badly caught on my first pregnancy in town without it. Oh the burn! I made an emergency call to my mother who came up trumps and met me in Marks and Spencer with a jumbo bottle. She says that the memory of a very pregnant me, standing in the main gangway of M&S, slugging gaviscon directly from the bottle, will stay with her forever. I thought that that was my lowest ebb in terms of indignity… Little did I know!
Anyway, I will sign off for now… I’ll be back again when I am 17 weeks gone, with 19 weeks of work left, and 7 to my holiday…