Monday, 30 August 2010

Nothing to see here....

I am two pounds shy of thirteen stone. I have a 45 inch waist and whilst a week ago the baby felt as though it was going to drop out of me, now it seems to have retreated.

Sorry folks, but there's nothing to see here........I've been nowhere and done nothing, except go to my Mum's yesterday for a spankingly good roast dinner. I'm hoping that if I overeat that lack of space might force out my daughter?

One small bittersweet note to add here should be that I have finished my second and final tapestry cushion. Once I have actually sewn it together I will be posting a picture of my efforts so you can see what I have been toiling over for the last six months or so. And then suddenly I realise that with this final stitch I feel like I have lost a good friend. I may have to start another tapestry project.........

I may have lost a good friend but in the last few weeks I also reclaimed a couple. Two dear friends returned from Australia for a long holiday. Mr Townsville is a very old friend of mine and has carved out a second career for himself in Australia as a Reggae DJ. On coming round to my house he was shocked to find that I had no form of speakers in my house and listened to music through my computer. The next time he visited me he brought with him a small set of speakers which I plugged into my computer and which increased the volume of my music (and in particular the bass) to an incredible extent. It lifted my mood substantially. It also occurred to me that finally I might be able to annoy my upstairs neighbours.

So whilst I may be trapped in the house, unable to shake my booty at carnival, we can at least replicate carnival in our house. My son's top two tunes at the moment can be found here and here. Whilst I have been playing this very loudly out of nostalgia for the days when I lived in Tobago and also this which helps me to get through sticky mud of life that I find myself in at the moment. I am hoping that a good boogie might shake out the little lady.

Oh, hang on I felt a twinge....maybe today will be the day?

Tuesday, 24 August 2010

Misery and Deforestation

I don’t use tampons because I can always feel them. It doesn’t matter where or how I put them in  - they’re always there. I’m having a similar sensation at the moment except with a full size BABY.

I have lost my identity. I am merely a vessel. A baby carrier. Like a Baby Bjorn except with wild hair and a lot more self pity. Really – it cannot be much longer now. COME ON baby!

Can I remind you that I am weeks away from my due date but have convinced myself that its coming now?

Since my nostalgic trip to Weymouth I managed to heave my great carcass to the New Forest to the fabulous Careys Manor Hotel where I experienced an interesting massage in the double treatment room with Bushman (a massage novice) who, when asked by the masseuse, accidentally gave the impression that he had no pants on. Typically I was massaged by Miss Piggy in human form while he had a hot, slim, blonde rub him into a snoring slumber. I can’t say it was the most relaxing massage I’ve ever had but it was certainly entertaining and expensive.

Other highlights were the breakfast and spa facilities at said hotel and a rather tacky goth wedding where the mother of the bride looked as if she had just got out of her coffin and in a dress almost identical to the brides just even cheaper looking. It was all very weird.

All holidays/fun/sex/smiles are now over. I cannot imagine that I will be having sex for the foreseeable future. I did indulge in a holiday mercy fuck but I couldn’t relax because I was convinced my water would break and I didn’t want to miss out on breakfast. You can tell things are bad when you trade an orgasm for breakfast. The breakfast was really good though.

Every time I stand up I feel as if this baby is going to drop out. (If only it were that simple). Bushman has no concept of what I am going through. He is unable to act on any kind of nurturing instinct or empathetic initiative. He complains that I am miserable. I keep reminding him that I don’t actually give a fuck what he thinks - he just has to put up with it, take out the rubbish, lift heavy items and do as he is bid.

Yesterday was spent preparing the bed with its many layers of plastic and old sheets and new sheets and sheets for now and sheets for after and sheets for later etc.etc. I feel like the princess and the pea or the princess who might pee, as every time I put weight on the bed the plastic makes that horrible sound which makes one think of incontinent people.

And so I must bid you good day because in preparation for this impending birth I need to put a mirror between my legs and apply some hair removal cream. I hate hair removal cream (and putting a mirror between my legs at the moment) but I have it on good authority that a midwife likes a clean slate and there is no way I can make it to the salon for a Brazilian. I'm hoping to achieve a happy medium. I don't want the pre-pubescent look but the New Forest has to be dealt with.

Wish me luck.

Sunday, 15 August 2010

A Nostalgic Holiday in Pictures

I spent a huge chunk of my childhood holidays at Weymouth Bay, Dorset. Every Whitsun week 12 members of our family hired a beach house on the seafront. I have many happy memories of donkey rides, streakers on the beach, walks along the promenade, the smell of salt and vinegar on chips, lardy cake, cornetto ice creams, the vile mixture of suncream and sand, wormcasts, brightly coloured windbreakers, and of course.....rain.

As it turns out, my 2010 retro trip did not disappoint. Here it is, in pictures....

The sun breaks through the window of our below par B&B, Friday morning. Things look promising....

A mixture of sunshine and clouds and a beautiful, freshly raked beach at 10am. The kiosks look the same as they did 20 years ago.

Weymouth Bay - just as I remember it.

The vintage windbreaker. This has appeared in countless photographs and is still going strong. This windbreaker and I are approximately the same age however; having been well looked after, in a bag my grandfather carefully made by hand, this windbreaker is looking a lot better than me. Twenty years ago this windbreaker was one of many on the beach. In 2010 it is the only one.

The only part of me fit for public consumption. My recently pedicured feet.

A brooding sky which can only mean one thing.....
The inside of the kids tent as it rains. We pack up and go home.

Colour along the promenade helps to lift the gloom.

More gloomy skies with sudden bursts of sunshine.

And yet more gloomy skies....the beach which had been packed to full capacity hours earlier, is now deserted.

I still don't think I have ever been on a pedalo. Yet again they look the same as they did twenty years ago.

Sitting in the car by the harbour on a very rainy Saturday.

During a quick dry spell I managed to snap the very first holiday home we stayed in, in Trinity Street. Previously next door to a funeral directors and with a stinking brewery at the end of the road this cannot , at the time, have commanded the highest price for a holiday let. Today however, the brewery has been turned into a small shopping centre and the area gentrified with swanky bars and a bistro in the building where the funeral director used to store dead bodies..... One of the only signs that times have changed.

In just a few hours I will be off on my last holiday alone with Bushman, to the New Forest. After that the baby is allowed to come out but certainly NOT before I have had my very expensive pregnancy massage. 

Monday, 9 August 2010

“Not long to go now!”……..Oh F**k off!

If I hear that phrase one more time I'm going to commit some kind of indiscriminate atrocity.

Its official: I am the most miserable pregnant woman in the universe and at the same time I acknowledge that I’ve no right to be. I am to all intents and purposes, healthy and so is my baby. I’m sorry but these rational facts are not going to stop me from having a rant.

I am suffering from Pelvic Girdle Pain (PGP) as its known which is better than what it used to be called (Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction – which is enough to tip any woman over the edge as it sounds like a sexually transmitted disease and a hereditary gynaecological abnormality all rolled into one.)

It’s uncomfortable and sometimes downright painful and it’s stopping me from going out. I don’t drive, so really, I’m pretty much housebound. All independence gone, just like that. Piff, paff, poof!

It’s a downward spiral from here really. Not going out = never bothering to put on proper clothes or do make up, resulting in feeling very down in the dumps. A large and unwieldy frame means that even the sexy maternity jeans are no longer comfortable; kaftans, leggings and any tent like structure now preferable.

And here comes the killer question on the occasions I do venture out of the house.

(Another reason methinks as to why I have become a hermit seamstress?)

“How long have you got to go?” they ask innocently.

“Not until September the 13th” I say, my heavy sigh tinged with disbelief and my soul in dire need of some comfort and sympathy.

“Oh, not long then” they say cheerfully, grinning from ear to ear.

I draw my cutlass from my tapestry bag and slit their throats. That’ll teach the bastards.

The moral of this story is: ‘Time’ is perceived. In pregnancy it is perceived differently. Like dog years. Do not underestimate the bloodlust of a heavily pregnant woman.

Wednesday, 4 August 2010


It's already over a week since I last posted. I thought that this being off work thing would mean I became permanently attached to my laptop, blogging twice a day and being totally up to date with everyone else's blogs.

As you can see this hasn't happened.


Anyone tell me what's wrong with this advert?

and I'm not even being picky about the punctuation.......there's just one word in this advert that I really object to and its the reason I wouldn't hire them. Can you guess what it is?