I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately to the point where I’m annoying myself.
On Monday I got up at 6am, powered through my to-do list and even some of my one-day-I’ll-get-round-to-it list, but I still felt I hadn’t done enough. On Tuesday I decided to work from home so I could have a slower day, but I ended up feeling restless, guilty and bored.
Over the two days I ate a huge amount of crap – thanks to my friend Stuart who brought round giant chocolate chip cookies (they’ve gone), my husband who bought Kettle Chips (not even a crumb remains) and my determination to find and demolish every scrap of sugar in the house.
Today, having given myself a stern talking-to, I allowed myself a half-hour browse round the shops after my morning meetings. I bought myself this dress cos it actually made my bump look cute. So now I can’t eat any more crap cos it’s a size 12 and I’ll end up bursting out of it.
The pockets look like a heart over my bump!
On Friday I’ll be 24 weeks, which apparently is when it stops being a foetus and starts being a viable human life. My wee small bump, of which I’ve been so proud, especially when the nail technician paraded me round the whole salon demanding everyone look at me cos she couldn’t believe I was nearly 6 months pregnant, is growing. Fast. Seriously – NOTHING fits any more. I am kidding myself with a black pencil skirt, the waistband of my leggings and tights hovers dangerously near the top of my legs and people are actually having the courage to say to me “so when are you due?” in public places.
So I guess I’m into my final three months and all the joy of nighttime toilet visits, backache and swollen ankles. But you know what? Now that I know that’s what’s up with me, I’m OK with it. I’m actually quite looking forward to being properly pregnant. And at the end of only 16 weeks I will have made a little person – and I cannot WAIT to meet him or her!
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