Spotless

Less than a week to go!

Yes, our house is spotless. It’s not like I’ve been nesting like mad just recently. It’s that I’ve been nesting regularly for the past 9 months. Now with the impending birth, I just keep things clean and tidy at all times, as I know that once Sprog is here, this house will never look the same again and I will never have this much time on my hands!

So in-between making photo albums (a 2-year backlog!), tidying up endless folders of digital pictures, deleting megabytes of blurred, badly framed or uninteresting shots, resting and reading lots of books, I do the occasional dusting, a spot of hoovering, a bit of bathroom cleaning, and I put things away and throw useless items out. It is therapeutic, and every day I feel better and better for it all.

Every woman should have maternity leave at least once in her life, regardless of whether or not she is about to have a baby!

Denial

Just over eight months – one more to go!

I thought I would write loads in my blog these last few weeks. I thought I would take the time to document my pregnancy. But I am already writing a journal for Sprog, and one for myself, so there is just no time or willingness to write about it all in here as well.

But here are a couple of pictures of my tummy, at 7 and 8 months.



There could be a month left, there could be 6 weeks left, there could be just 2 weeks... or less... But I’m OK, I haven’t reached the impatient stage yet (‘I don’t want to be pregnant any more, let this baby OOOOOUUUUUUTTTTT!!!!’), although I’m getting a little more uncomfortable each day now, especially at night. The baby is doing great, still growing normally, and I’m feeling fine, if a little (very!) tired at times.

Everything is ready – the room, the pushchair and carrycot and car seat, the Moses basket in case we decide to use it after all (a friend of mine gave me hers but we still do intend to put Sprog in the cot bed straight away), the clothes, the bibs, the muslin squares (ten – apparently, you can never have enough!) and the towels and bath toys and mini picture books (of course!) and soft toys...

Still, I have been in denial for about 3 weeks. I can’t quite make the link between what’s wriggling inside me and the reality of a baby in my arms in a few weeks’ time. I wonder why we have transformed the guest room into a baby room, why we have piles of baby clothes, why we have a carrycot ready to go in the car, and worst of all, why quite a lot of old clothes and towels and a collection of breast pads and maternity pads are packed away in a suitcase, standing and ready to be picked up at the slightest sign of labour...

I’m pregnant now, and this is my new state, FOR EVER! Of course there’s no REAL baby in there, of course nothing’s going to come out. I’ve just got a big tummy, that’s all.

I’m a bit better these past couple of days – I’m back to reality. Maybe because it was my birthday on Monday and I didn’t do a thing and so I had plenty of time to talk to Sprog and feel him/her and tell him/her stories. But mainly, I think it’s because he/she’s growing so big now that I can feel every part of him/her: the back, the feet, the knees, the bum, that tiny little bum that makes me laugh so much when it pushes upward and looks like it’s going to pierce the skin of my tummy and pop out!

Intellectually, I know that in just a few weeks a baby will come out of me (try, anyway!), and now physically and emotionally, I am starting to feel that it really is quite possible that there is a real baby inside me and therefore it will want to come out at some point. It’s getting tight in there...

But Sprog, hang on in there. Mummy’s not quite ready, and you’re not quite ‘cooked’ either. You still need to put on a few more ounces and develop your lungs to their full capacity, so that you can give this powerful scream when you do come out...

Table for four

I had dinner at an Italian restaurant in Oxford last night with one of my (many!) pregnant friends.

‘Table for two?’ asked the East European waitress in a thick accent and barely audible voice.
‘Yes,’ answered my friend, N.
‘No, table for four,’ I whispered, smiling at N.

Ah, pregnancy bliss! The pleasure of being able to imagine and, now, to know that there is someone in there, a real person, who is growing stronger by the day, kicking harder every day...

Soon, there will be three of us in this household, but I can already feel that we are a family now. It is a wonderful feeling, one that I had not anticipated. Roll on third trimester!

Bruised

Six months today! Three more to go!

I am bruised.

All over.

But inside.

Mind you, outside too – I keep bumping into things, dropping things, hurting myself with forks and knives and jewellery and pens.

But on the inside, it’s not my doing. It’s Sprog’s.* I am battered, beaten, shaken, trodden, flattened and crushed. Day in, day out, and at night too.

I couldn’t go back to sleep last night. It was only half past midnight, I had been sleeping for a couple of hours, but Sprog had woken up and just used my bladder as a punching ball – the loo beckoned. Then Sprog never went back to sleep, hiccupping one minute, kicking the next. So I didn’t either. Well, until about 2.30 a.m., that is, after lying still on my back on the sofa bed in the study, resting, reading, till my eyes couldn’t distinguish the words on the page any more.

I hope that this is not the first step on the downhill slope that leads to the abysmal first few weeks after Sprog has joined the world (till he/she finally sleeps through the night). If so, it will be a long winter...

* I don’t like using the name ‘Sprog’ for our baby, but Monsieur l’Anglais likes it and it stuck pretty much from Day 1, so we carry on using it. I did suggest using the boy name we’ve chosen on ‘he days’ and the girl’s name on ‘she days’ (no, we don’t know what sex the baby is), but no, he prefers to use ‘Sprog’, so hey, I might as well use it here too!

Are you a Woolly Mummy?

Especially for T. ...

I have been reading The Yummy Mummy’s Survival Guide by Liz Frazer avidly, but I would like to write about a different kind of mummy – the Woolly Mummy.

You are a Woolly Mummy if:
- you are more hairy than a monkey – and yes, even in the most unsightly places
- you scratch yourself all over, in all kinds of places (nipples, areolas, small of your back, and of course underarms)
- you spend countless hours brushing your teeth every day (see my French blog)
- you can only express yourself using ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ and ‘mmmhs’, because you have a woolly memory and you get completely gaga in front of (pictures of) cute baby animals, e.g. cygnets under their mother’s wings (yes, under, or even between – see picture, taken by our professional photographer friend during a boat trip on the Thames)
- you get all excited and emotional when you look at your friend’s first baby scan – let alone your own
- you grow a hairy tummy and a beard!

Ah, the joys of pregnancy!!!

Advantages

There are advantages to being pregnant and feeling sick and/or hungry at night and therefore being unable to sleep for more than 2 or 3 hours at a time. Yes, really.

Take the moon, for example. Who saw the moon rise in the sky last Wednesday night, a deep apricot colour, just like the sun at dawn? And again the night after that, but this time a pale yellow, high in the sky, just like the sun at midday?

I felt it was Nature’s way of compensating for her evil ways, like making the female body produce an insane amount of hormones in order to make a baby and its support system – placenta, more blood, bigger uterus, etc. – and inducing nausea and exhaustion in the process.

Thank you, Nature – it made me feel so much better to be able to see the great things you are also capable of!

An old wives’ tale?

Five weeks ago

When yesterday I retrieved Blooming Birth from under our bed, because my temperature was still 37 degrees, I knew it was a good sign. First, there was hope in me again. Second, there was will to start thinking about it seriously again, to prepare for it seriously.

Last night, I asked Monsieur l’Anglais what he wanted to do: wait until the 38th day of my cycle because my longest cycle had been 38 days (just two months ago), or do a test ‘tomorrow’? He asked how much longer we would have to wait if we waited for the 38th day. After a brief calculation, I said, ‘Two weeks’. He instantly looked crestfallen. ‘That’s a long time!’ ‘Yep! OK, let’s do this: if my temperature is still 37 degrees, we’ll do a test, OK?’ ‘Yes, OK!’ We were both quite excited.

So excited that this morning, I woke up early (6.00am) and couldn’t go back to sleep! Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long before Monsieur l’Anglais woke up too and decided to get up. At 7.30, we were downstairs. My temperature was still 37 degrees. The moment of truth. Monsieur waited in the kitchen while I did the business in the bathroom. It’s such a privilege to find out before everybody else!

It was not disappointment when I saw the horizontal blue line appear in the square window – it was complete disbelief. ‘No way!’ I muttered. I was so sure (99%) that I was pregnant that it was just impossible that the test would show a negative blue line...

But then, paradoxically, it was disbelief again when I saw the vertical blue line appear in the same window, crossing the horizontal line, making a perfect ‘plus’ sign! ‘Oh my God!’ I muttered this time, a huge smile stretching my lips and cheeks. I stayed quiet, finished peeing, then went into the kitchen, unable to contain a half-grin, holding the test in one hand and the instructions in the other. I had time to think ‘What shall I say? “You’re going to be a daddy”? No, that’s too soon... Just in case...’ and so instead I said under my breath, ‘I’m pregnant!’

‘So?’ Monsieur l’Anglais asked, ‘What does that say?’, unwilling to find out for himself, to read the instructions and work out what the blue lines meant. Of course, it was easier to find out from me.

‘I’m pregnant,’ I repeated, this time more clearly and loudly.

We hugged tight as he said ‘Good!’, beaming. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

I was shaking with emotion and shed a few happy tears.

Right now, a couple of hours later, in bed, resting, about to go back to sleep because I’m so tired, it feels completely unreal. Like it’s happening to someone else. Who were we talking about in the kitchen?!

But I’m talking to the tiny creature in my tummy again – our daughter, because of course it’s going to be a girl, as predicted by my aunt and as intuitively felt by me! – as I’ve been doing for the past couple of days, and telling her ‘Hang in there, stay warm, reste bien au chaud...’

The truth is, even before I found out, still in bed this morning, I was already imagining Monsieur l’Anglais taking pictures of me every month, and also telling my friend I, ‘Exactly one year after you! How do you fancy having a one-year-younger-twin for your daughter?!’ And about two weeks ago, two days in a row, I remember waking up and my first thought being ‘So how are we going to redecorate the guest room?’ – the most weird first thought of the day, when I didn’t have a clue that I was already pregnant (I can’t remember when exactly this was, but it must have been just after the baby was conceived – a completely unconscious message from her already!)

My friend T (mother of three) had told me, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll know’. She was right! But I think I only knew – I was only so ‘sure’ – because I had been taking my temperature for two months, and the last few days there was no sign of it going down. And also because my boobs were hurting already (since Sunday 9th) and my lower tummy too (since Tuesday 11th). Still, it was a calm certitude, an ‘I’ll be damned if the test is negative/if I’m wrong this time’ kind of certitude.

Once I’ve rested a bit, I’ll ask Monsieur l’Anglais to take pictures of me in my bikini – the first of nine series, till the birth. Gosh, ‘birth’ – who the hell are we talking about here? Not us, surely?!

So my friend C and I are going to share a few months of pregnancy after all (we have six in common overall, but we’ve already ‘missed’ one, so we’ll hold each other’s hands for just five). How cool is that?! It will be like my mum and her friend C, and our children will be like A and me... So cool!

Funnily enough, when I last went to see C (on 9th February), she said, ‘Well, now you’ve sat on my sofa, you’ll be all right! Apparently,’ she explained, seeing my nonplussed expression, ‘if you sit on a pregnant woman’s sofa, you’ll be pregnant soon too!’ An old wives’ tale?!

Cinema

The clouds are crying again. Endless tears, and quite violent. And so it’s made me cry... Today, Monday, was going to be my day. My pilgrimage day. My trip to Nice, on my own, with my memories, my travel diary to write down all my feelings and emotions about it, and my camera, to finally take digital pictures of the place that holds most of my childhood memories (I do have a few pictures from my 2004 trip, but they were taken on film – I hadn’t entered the digital age yet). However, even just lying down in my warm bed before getting up, I could tell that this was going to be a ‘bad’ day (un jour sans, as we say in French). At first, I didn’t have the strength to wake up properly and get up to say goodbye to B before she set off to work. But when I finally did, I nearly fell over as I was so weak and dizzy. I said ‘Bon courage’ to B, then looked out the window and saw the grey sky. Another crap day... ‘Oh it will probably get better later, don’t worry.’ Yes, I thought, but perhaps I won’t...

I went back to bed but couldn’t fall asleep again, so after an hour, I gave up and got up for good. I didn’t feel any better. When I got into the lounge, what I saw made my heart sink. Sheets of rain, and a blocked view, yet again.

I sat at the table before starting eating my breakfast, and all I could feel was exhaustion and sadness. Then I tried to stop feeling miserable and said to myself that realistically, I would not even be able to walk to Monaco's train station, near the Casino, let alone traipse around Nice. In any case, I wouldn’t be able to take pictures, the weather being so awful, so there really was no point. And even if the sun had shone and the sky had been blue, I would have forced myself to be reasonable and stay in the flat, at least in the morning. Because if tomorrow I feel like I’m feeling right now, travelling back to England will be nearly impossible. So I must gather some strength.

Tonight, hopefully, if I’m not feeling too bad, we’re going to see a soon-to-be French cult film: Bievenue chez les Ch’tis. In its third week, it’s already immensely successful. Fingers crossed, not many people will want/be able to see it today at 6 p.m., and we’ll have most of the room to ourselves. It is Monday after all, and 6 p.m., even for the rich Monegasques, is too early to leave work and have a leisurely couple of hours in front of a big screen...

EDIT: The room was only half full and we had a great time. We laughed out loud many, many times and came out feeling like we had had a good abs workout! I definitely recommend the film to all Francophiles out there – but especially Francophones, as the language is very hard to understand, even for French people!

Roquebrune

What a pretty, picturesque village! And at this time of year, it is very quiet, so wandering around its streets was most enjoyable. We started with the 10th century castle, well worth the 3-euro ticket as the views from the top are breathtaking. Especially when the sun shines, which, amazingly, it did today, for about an hour, just as were walking up and down the village. THANK YOU! I got tired quite quickly, though, so after admiring the views from various meandering streets, we took the car and drove to the centre of Monaco, where we had planned to watch a film. But it wasn’t to be – the queue was huge, B completely put off, and myself disappointed but glad to go home to a warm cup of tea and a nice sofa to lie down on. The film would have to wait till Monday evening.

Fog

This is the picture-perfect view (courtesy of B) I would have been able to photograph this morning, had the weather been idyllic. But today, if I had taken a picture of the scenic view from the balcony, you would only have seen white. It is foggy like it has never been. We can’t see further than 2 metres away. No yellow or orange specks on the trees across the hair-pin bend today...

So we stayed in all day, processing, editing, deleting photographs (for me) and making a photo album (for B). If we had been able to set up the wifi connection on my computer, I would have started creating a photo album with MyPublisher too (either the three weddings we went to in September, or our honeymoon in Sri Lanka), but we are not internet-connection savvy and so after many trials and errors, we gave up. Never mind. At least I have now edited three folders of pictures – yippee! Only 24 to go!