Monthly Archives: March 2011

Lucky ladybird?

I am now 9 days overdue.

I’m trying very hard to stay calm, eat well, sleep, stay active. I’m fighting the crazy hormones which make me alternately want to cry, scream, break things and lock myself in a dark room until labour commences.

This afternoon a ladybird landed on my bump. I have a bit of a thing about ladybirds – they’ve always brought me luck.

So please, God, let this be a sign that my baby will be arriving soon!

Lucky ladybird?

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The trouble with socks

It’s a common problem for pregnant women – even if you’re lucky enough to be able to see your feet, you can’t reach them.

I was complaining to my friend Jenny, who’s an Occupational Therapist, about how difficult it was to put my socks on in the morning. “I have the very thing,” she said. “A Foxy.”

A more blinding misnomer I have yet to find, but don’t let that put you off. This simple wee piece of plastic has made my mornings. Look:

One foot, one pair of socks, one Foxy

Curve Foxy, hold it in place with your knees and lay the tapes either side

Slide your sock over the top, making sure the toe is right at the edge

Pull your sock up over the ridge and make sure the elastic isn't tucked under

Fling it on the floor, slip your foot in and use the tapes to pull it up

Keep pulling

Keep pulling

Voila!

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Overdue & overwrought

My due date has been and gone with a Red Nose on.

Although I’ve had plenty of Braxton Hicks over the last two weeks, junior isn’t showing much intention of appearing.

I’ve been getting loads of calls, texts, tweets and messages from friends and family. The best ones say things like: “thinking of you”; “hope you’re not too uncomfy”; “let us know if you need anything”. I don’t so much like the “any news?” messages and the “keep me in the loop” ones are worst of all.

I know they’re all very well-meaning and I’m lucky to have so many people care, but those last ones make me feel like I’m failing somehow. I’m keeping people waiting (which I hate, I’m always early), I’m not holding up my end of the bargain and I must explain myself. It’s like the boss is calling to ask why I’m still off sick.

I know I’m overreacting. I’m hormonal, bloated, uncomfortable to the point of being in pain and, despite my hypnobirth training, more than a little bit apprehensive about what lies ahead. Really all I want is to be left alone to slink off into a dark quiet place and do what I have to do. Then I’ll be able to emerge into the light with my gorgeous baby and share all the joy in the world.

Please let that day come soon.

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A happy coincidence for the midwife and me!

The New Victoria hospital - but an old connection

Of the five community midwives in the Pink Team, I’ve seen Lesley most frequently. She exudes authority but she’s also friendly and I’ve always felt like she really listens. When I told her on Monday that I’d had an off week she agreed it was unlike me and asked me to come back today. After my examination she said I was close but she’d like to see me again on Monday. I was disappointed, but as I dressed behind the curtain I told her my Dad was working in Sicily until Sunday and didn’t want to become a grandfather in the land of the godfather. She laughed and we chatted about the work he was doing out there.

“Wait, what’s his name?”

I zipped up my boots and told her. There was a beat and then the curtain was ripped back.

“You’re not going to believe this!” she cried.

“You didn’t deliver me!” I teased her, knowing full well she was too young.

“No, I delivered your sister!”

I gaped.

“I remember it so clearly – your dad was sitting there in his leather jacket, reading the Herald. And your mum gave me a present afterwards. Clarins. We never get presents! How old is your sister now?”

“19!” I told her. “I can’t believe that coincidence!”

“Wait, do you have another sister?”

“Yes, Laura’s 25…”

“My best friend Noreen delivered her! Do you mind if l I tell her? This is amazing, you know, I’ve not had a good morning – there are things I have to do as a manager that I don’t like doing, and there’s more happening this afternoon, but this has made my day! Please tell your mum I was asking for her!”

We chatted away as we walked back to the reception – my sisters and I were all born at Rutherglen Maternity hospital which has since been knocked down. It seemed amazing to me that of all the midwives in all the city, she should be the one looking after me the most.

I see coincidences like this as sign posts that I’m on the right path – I’m more convinced than ever that I’ll have a good labour!

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Crying over a carseat?

We decided that, with five days to go before my due date, we should probably check that the babyseat would fit in the new car.

How it should look

I was apprehensive cos Rod had already flung his PS3 controller at the wall in a fit of pique this morning. Occasionally his temper gets the better of him so as he unpacked the carseat I warned him to read the instructions and be gentle.

Fifteen minutes later I went outside to check his progress.

“I’m not happy about this,” he said, shoogling the seat violently.

He was right, it was slipping all over the leather and didn’t look secure at all. But one side of the carseat seemed to be moving a lot more than the other.

“Why is…” I peeled back the cover to find the, albeit polystyrene, wing had snapped clear of the plastic.

“You broke it,” I accused. “You lost your temper and you f*ing broke it.”

I stomped inside, then stomped out through the back and stood taking deep breaths in the garden trying not to cry. I’ve been very stressed lately and this could have pushed me over the edge. But I realised we still had time, we’d just need to go to the Pram Centre today and buy a new one. And get it fitted, which we should have done in the first place, except we bought the pram travel system before we bought the car.

When I stepped back into the kitchen Rod was on the phone. He was arranging to take back a ‘faulty carseat’ and evidently they were being very helpful because he wasn’t in the middle of breaking anything.

Sheepishly he turned to me and asked if I’d like to be dropped off at Mum’s while he dealt with this.

“I’d rather come with you.”

Fitted properly with a seat grip

We drove to the Pram Centre in silence – until an idiot in an Audi TT cut me up and we bonded in our swearing at a common enemy. It softened the atmosphere. Then there were the fantastic staff at the Pram Centre. The woman at the service desk agreed the carseat was faulty and arranged a replacement (which they luckily had in stock) within five minutes. Another girl, called Nicky, came out with us to the car to fit it. She wasn’t happy with it on the side with two plugs, so moved it to the side with one plug (diagonally opposite the driver) and then called out her supervisor to double check. The supervisor checked it thoroughly, gave the belt plenty of good tugs and advised a seat grip for added security. It cost £10 – a hell of a lot less than an iso-fix system or a new carseat – and made that little bit of difference that set our minds at rest.

As we drove home, relieved and back on speaking terms, Rod tapped out an email to the Pram Centre manager on his iPhone, with the subject ‘Superb customer service’. He read it out to me and I couldn’t help but grin at his final line:

“We’ve gone from wanting to murder each other to being back in love – isn’t that great?”

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