Still believe men are rubbish but I’m going to buy myself some nice things on the joint account to compensate :)
So, bearing in mind I have a full-time job and my husband spends his days lounging round the house with Jack watching cricket…
I have had to: go all the way to Oxford St after work to buy the present, buy bits for the costume and cut up a pair of trousers for the costume (it’s a pirate theme).
Tomorrow I will be going to pick up Jack from my sister’s house, dressing him there and taking him to the party (carrying his heavy bag of overnight stuff with me). Jim will be having a lie-in (because the ones he gets during the week while I’m at work aren’t sufficient, clearly) and watching football on TV all day of course.
He just phoned me from Kentish Town asking if there was anything I needed. I said some wrapping paper and a birthday card. But apparently even this is too much effort and he thinks I can just add an extra stop onto my journey tomorrow.
I guess I can wrap the prezzie at Laura and Dewi’s - it’s not like Jim would have done that either.
Are all men so unbelievably crap, lazy and selfish or have I just drawn a really short straw?
… deliberately getting a bus that takes the long route round so you can sit down for longer.
… and for no apparent reason. Well, I can tell you some of the things that I’m anxious about but these alone aren’t enough to merit the levels of anxiety I’m feeling. So as is my wont these days, I’m putting it down to hormones.
1) Work. I am COMPLETELY useless at my job. Everything is a struggle and I keep messing up. I know nothing about politics or the media and everyone thinks I’m rubbish. When I go on maternity leave, my replacement is going to be so much better that my colleagues are going to regret me coming back. And even if not, everyone hates me anyway because I’m different.
2) Riots. To say I’m devastated about the riots going on in London at the moment is an understatement. I stayed up till 5ish on Saturday obsessively following the Tottenham riots on Twitter and have continued to keep an eye these last couple of days. I’m devastated that there are such disenfranchised kids in our society and that the establishment doesn’t recognise this. I even cried a little about this today.
3) Jim went to a stag do on Sat. There was a good half hour where I wondered if he would meet someone else that night and be unfaithful. Those of you who know Jim know quite how laughable this suggestion is. Jim is far too lazy to cheat on me!
4) I’m really stressed about my flat. To be honest it is a fucking pigsty and I’m worried I’m not going to sort it out in time for the baby. Jim has given me permission to get a cleaner in but my flat is so disgusting I don’t want anyone to see it - not even a cleaner.
Mental much? Moi? Of course not.
‘I’ve tried really hard but I’ve only been able to come out with one little bit and one large bit. See? One little and one big’. Er, thanks…
I’m not sure if I’ve labelled the right bits - the sonographer pointed them out to me on the screen yesterday so I hope I’ve got it spot on. Anyway, it seems Bean shares a sense of humour with his dad and brother. The only picture he posed for yesterday was one of his willy and his balls!
The ultrasound went very well. Bean is still only average (healthy) size which is great news. I do have to go back for another scan in another four weeks because apparently the diabetes gets worse towards the end of the pregnancy, plus babies also put the most weight on at this time. For now though, it seems this stupid diet is really doing the trick!
When Jack and his grandma came to pick me up from the station the other day, grandma obviously wanted the latest on the baby. (Blog link not shared with grandma as I’m sure she would have no interest whatsoever in my perineum).
We did our best to involve Jack in the excitement by asking him how he was feeling. Very seriously he said to his grandma ‘You know what’s really exciting, grandma? Mummy might be getting an iPhone’.
Just now I tried to phone my husband on his iPhone. A little voice answered, we had a brief conversation, and then instead of passing the phone to his daddy, he hung up on me! Needless to say, I called back, only to have the same small voice answer the phone with ‘what do you want now, mummy?’. Er… To speak to your dad, the owner of this phone?
Jack has also declared a number of times that daddy is his favourite parent because ‘he has an iPhone’. Methinks this obsession is getting a little out of control!
With Jack we had this rather unwielding thing which looked a bit like an instrument of torture.
This time, I’ve decided I want a wrap so I can keep Bean close to me when he’s small. I relayed this to my mother who found it hilarious.
Apparently her own mother (my Colombian grandmother obvs) used to carry her kids around in a piece of material wrapped round her while she grafted. Except she didn’t have to fork out fifty odd quid for the privilege!
Goodness, well I for one am surprised I’ve made it this far without tearing my hair out! Did I mention that Jim said there was no way we were having any more kids- partly because he couldn’t endure me whinging my way through another pregnancy? Surely I’ve not been that bad… have I?
Anyway, most recently I’ve been pretty well. People keep commenting on the ‘glow’ (it’s actually extra sweat everybody. I read it somewhere) and the weight loss which is nice. I had a minor dietary lapse two nights ago and ate an entire packet of McCoy’s and some Dairy Milk. Suffice to say my blood sugar was super-high yesterday and I ended up going home from work early with some sort of carb-induced hangover. Shan’t be doing that again in a hurry, I tell you.
Bean’s been a bit less active these past few days - partly as a result of his cramped living conditions I suspect. This fact, coupled with a few high readings and the McCoy’s/Dairy Milk affair has worried me that he might be getting too big. My bump is HUMONGOUS. Anyway, there is little point in speculating.
My next scan is on Tuesday so I’ll get a clearer idea then. I’m quite enjoying pregnancy at the moment, truth be told. Obviously this will be short-lived as I’ll have to start the dreaded perineal massage in a couple of weeks. You’d think a legitimate excuse to play with your bits every evening would be welcome. Unfortunately, it’s about as sexy as Ed Miliband’s adenoids.