Wednesday, July 20, 2011

36 Weeks: All's Well That Ends Without Gastroenteritis.

Three weeks to go, my friends.

And counting.

Little hairy Plum is still kicking and squirming like mad, cramping my lung capacity, and demanding oranges and chocolate. The kids are in fine form, and Keith is almost all better.

We've gotten used to hanging out in bed, dueling laptops blinking, my Rennies balanced on the bump as I watch shows on IView and shift position every five minutes. Keith writes code for his website and tinkers happily with solar-cell-modelling programs, and we tuck our feet together and I try not to fart too much. Happy times!

I feel OK when I'm sitting or lying down. Then I think 'Oh right, better tackle that washing up/eat the rest of that Terrys Chocolate Orange', and get up. Then I double over and look dazedly for the horse that just kicked me in the crotch. Painkillers are still getting me through the later part of the day, and as the hairy Plum stacks on the weight my pelvis has been getting slightly worse. But the car is back! And even though Ivy's two best buddies have, respectively, gastro and whooping cough, she is fit as a pink, sparkly, bejeweled fiddle.

Mum and Dad have been visiting for the last few days and the close presence of Nanna and Pop has been wonderful. Yesterday Keith and I dropped the squidlets with Nanna and hit IKEA for a nesting frenzy. Pathetically, but incredibly pleasurably, he pushed me in a Swedish wheelchair through the seething mass of Sunday-shopper humanity. It was a long day. But we did good.

Tonight I cooked the man some juicy lamp chops to fuel him up for a flat-packing festival. He was in his happiest of places, teaching the kids how to use an Allen key and immersing himself in the giant puzzle-like joy of it all. He's a freak. And how I love him.

In short, the growing of this baby and the care and feeding of my two other little naughtybuttons is taking almost all my mojo. I haven't had much space to blog or write. But I did want to take a moment to remember some happy images of recent times that have gone unrecorded:

Ivy and Ted in a a little back-yard beauty spa action.

Cousin-matching #1: Four-year-old heartbreak. On a recenmt trip to Cowra, Ivy and cuzzie Isabelle are told there will be no strawberry milkshakes today, just coffee on the run for their frazzled Mamas.
Uncle Chris shows the kiddoes his ambulance.
Ivy and Belle remind me so much of me and their Mum at this age.

Tucking as many little beloveds as I can around the belly.

Cousin Matching #2: Ted and Zoe with some two-year old clone action.

Tucked up in bed at the Langham Hotel with sis-in-law Jen, watching Downton Abbey, and re-enacting our joy at the moment Lady Mary finally kissed cousin Michael. Keiths face cracks me up here.

Happy-birthday boots with my gorgeous girlfriends.

And Ivy and Ted making Jungle Juice for sick Daddy.

Clearly, amongst the whinging, there have been many happy moments. And only three more weeks to go....


  1. Boo for pain, but YAY for happy moments! (And chocolate...)


  2. From the photos, it's difficult to imagine that anyone has been uncomfortable or unhappy at your end. Except in the absence of strawberry milkshakes, of course. Hope the new furniture has a gorgeous, healthy wriggly thing using it soon.

  3. Hello lady!!

    Good to see how and what has been happening even if it isn't all pleasurable. We too try not to fart too much in this house but we are all losing the battle I tell you. Let's see one another in the flesh quickly, soon okay?

    xxx Lizzie

  4. Great little collection of photos.

    I had to laugh at the IKEA bit. The Mr has only just recovered from his visit to IKEA en route back to TAS with our new van ('never again on a Saturday' he continues to well as 'what's with all the pregnant women there?') Several evenings have been spent putting together bookcases,kitchen cabinets & the like....some have even made it onto the walls (pathetic but pleasing also!).

    Hope that gastro skips of luck finding time to put your feet up for the next 3 weeks.

  5. Cripes, those kids look cookie-cutter similar. Freaking me out. Family resemblances aren't strong in my clan - well, beyond the 'your face looks like dad's butt' type.

    Hopefully the energy you get after giving birth will help to expunge the tediousness of this tiring stage out of memory.

    PS when I actually get this knitting thing sorted out, I'll knit your bub a milo too :)


Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.