Since I’ve started this weekly pregnancy diary, I’ve always known at the end of each week what I’ll write about next, and have enjoyed thinking of bits and pieces I could include. Last week was no exception. Unfortunately, however, the idea was as far as I got. Instead of coming up with things I could write as I sit in traffic, peel potatoes, or “listen” to calls in work, I have spent the week in a flurry of activity and mild panic.
Yes, it has been one of those weeks. It started with a broken washing machine, and ended with cramps so bad, I thought this baby was making an early appearance. Fortunately, order has been restored – the baby remains safely inside where it should be, and the laundry mountain has been reduced to manageable levels, so I can hit the keyboard at last.
So, to begin at the beginning – the washing machine…. Like most homes with a toddler in situ, we have a lot of washing to do. It’s not just her clothes; it’s the fact that she puts her mucky paws all over me and the husband – and anything else in her path, so there’s no chance of anyone’s jeans getting two outings before they hit the laundry pile. An evening with the kitchen resembling a Paddy field, a week without a functioning machine, and days spent in fruitless attempts to track down a man with a spanner – while the clothes piled up, have meant that my nerves, never the best while pregnant, have taken a real hammering.
And then there’s work. It hit me – and, more importantly, my boss – this week that I have only 6 weeks left. Now, I wasn’t planning on throwing everything onto his desk, running for the exit, shouting “it’s all in there, am sure you’ll sort it out” (well, only in my daydreams), but I certainly underestimated the amount of work involved in finishing up work. What began as a simple “One on one” meeting with my boss, ended with a task list as long as my arm, and my hopes of a nice easy run up to maternity leave fizzling out in a haze of handover conversations and organisation.
Then, just to spice things up a bit, the toddler came down with a cold. The poor little mite started with a runny nose, but quickly began coughing as if she has an 80 a day habit. She has a touch of asthma, and we’ve increased her inhaler dosages as instructed – to say she is unimpressed with this development is putting it mildly. Much time has been spent chasing her from room to room, alternately promising, threatening and cajoling as we wield the inhalers and the nebuliser. We go through a similar, more muted, variation, whenever we need to blow her nose, and another when we need to give her any type of medicine. I’ve run miles and miles around my own house this week. Thankfully, she’s improving, and with luck, the requirement to sprint after her will reduce soon too.
And, last but not least – the cramps. Maybe I’m a wuss, and maybe also a wuss with amnesia – because I don’t remember anything of the sort last time. They passed in time – but not before I had time to call the husband howling, (I was a bit ashamed of my histrionics afterwards but didn’t let on of course) – and all is well since. Apparently this baba is upside down, so I’m hoping that the pains equated to an energetic (slow!!!) somersault?
With all these shenanigans, everything else was placed on the backburner, and my mood has been apocalyptic – to say the least. As the laundry pile decreased though, my sense of perspective has returned, and if this was a bad week – then I haven’t got a lot to complain about, have I? And even better, I still have my idea for next week’s post!