Long time no blog!

I have finally found my nesting Mojo. Subsequent to the 11 binbags of clothes donated to charity, there have been about 50 DVDs, and I have found another 4 binbags and another 50 DVDs, as well as a couple of bits of furniture and various other odds and sods, and items of bric-a-brac.

I used to make tiaras as a cheeky sideline to earn myself some pocket money, and some of my earlier ones (which by my standards are not up to scratch now) have gone to the charity shop brand new as well, for them to sell. I figured I don't want to put my name to them, and someone out there might want one!

I cannot wait for the excavation of crap to be over. I have a few places to go yet - the understairs cupboard, the kitchen drawers, and the bedroom. So far I have done the nursery (formerly the spare room), and most of the dining room, and I have made a start on the sitting room. I have this week cleaned the bathroom (needed doing!) the kitchen (apart from the drawers), hoovered and brushed the stairs (the dimwits who did up this house used separate pieces of carpet for each step so the pile (cut pile, not loop pile) faces in 4 different directions, and traps dirt like you wouldn't believe), and hoovered and brushed the rug in the sitting room.

I am now totally cream crackered. Must remember to take it a bit easier though as I managed to get myself out of breath by hoovering the stairs and the rug.

Buddy has taken to sleeping upstairs during the day, in the nursery - either on the bed, or on the nice chinese rug in there. I think he thinks the room is his. Either that or it's a desperate plea to be involved in whatever is going on in that room, and by sleeping in there whenever possible is guaranteeing himself a slice of the action.

Don't worry, Buddy. We love you, and think you will make a great, hairy, older brother for Mal Jr. We would never leave you behind. You make us feel like a family, and our house feel like a home.

Numbers.

Eleven is the number of binbags of clothes I have donated to charity.

Four is the number of binbags of rubbish I have thrown out.

One is the number of wheelie-bins I have left to fill.

Two is the number of mad aunts/grandparents who seriously pissed me off on holiday.

Three is the number of steps my nephew has taken since being back from holiday.

Ninety is the number of minutes it will take me to get to the Mothership's house tomorrow.

Six is the number of dogs that will be waiting there for Buddy to play with (Grumpy Grandpa, Uncle Shadow, Womble-nosed Dad, Mum, and Yoda who are all the same breed as Buddy, and a lovely Keeshond who is two sizes of dog bigger.)

I shall post a family portrait if I manage to get one tomorrow.

What a way to start the day

Just a quick one before we go on "holiday" - got a text this morning saying our friends had turned their little girl into a big sister overnight. A whopper of a baby girl weighing 10 lbs arrived with minimal pain relief.

Congrats to D and J and big sister A.

I've got a bad feeling about this...

We're going on "holiday". I use the quotation marks as I think it's going to be 6 days of unadulterated torture. My mother turns 60 on Tuesday and has arranged for her side of the family plus hangers on to come up to a big house in Northumberland (Wife in the North territory). She has already started huffing about not everyone going for the whole week, people bailing at the last minute, arrangements for food... I think she might end up gagged and bound in the cellar of the house while everyone else enjoys the peace and quiet.

We're going via Wales though to spend some time with family friends (in fact, the people who own Buddy's parents) on Saturday - D is my most long-standing friend. Many, many years ago, Buddy's predecessor also came from this family, and we traipsed from the South coast all the way up to deepest, darkest Mid-Wales (mile and three-quarter long no-through road - they live at the end of it) in February half-term when there was snow everywhere and met this lovely warm, welcoming family in a paradise setting. D and I hit it off - her birthday is a few days after mine so we are the same age, apart from the fact that she only gets a birthday every 4 years. D's Mum turns 60 exactly a week after mine does. So they are doing the sensible thing of throwing a barbecue so everyone can turn up for it and then leave rather than having to be in a pressure cooker environment for 6 whole, long, painful excruciating days.

I sense that bad things will happen. As there is precious little chance of me getting near an internet connection for a week, like Mal, I will be very quiet for a week, but will no doubt have some emotional battle-scars for show and tell when we get back on Saturday.

Adieu!

Household objects of terror

Due to my penchant for fainting in hot weather, I have installed a desk fan in the sitting room to keep it bearable without the need to remove layers of clothes. It oscillates gently back and forth and keeps me nice and cool. Unfortunately, Buddy has taken exception to it, and refuses to believe that when he is not watching it, that it will not shed its mesh metal guards, and chase him around the room shaving off his coat. Heaven knows, in this weather, he'd probably be cooler with less fur.

He has to sneak past it, making sure it's not looking when he runs into the sitting room from the kitchen, and then dives to take cover from it on the sofa. Unfortunately, such is his fear of the fan, that when ordered "off" the sofa, he wets himself, as it involves being sent involuntarily into the jaws of the death fan. This renders the sofa un-sittable for humans. This human needs to sit down a lot, so I go and get the inflatable gym ball of certain dog-death.

For anyone who has seen that Indiana Jones film, I think he assumes it will start rolling at him, chasing him through the entire downstairs of the house, and he, the plucky hero will be forced to flee it movements by hiding in corners or gaps between kitchen cabinets. These large, blue, inflatable, 65cm diameter gym balls are not to be trusted. They are in league with the ironing board, don't you know!

The ironing board has been Buddy's arch-nemesis from the day we brought him home. Ironing boards are the scourge of small dogs, and a lesser known fact is that they feast entirely on a diet of dogs weighing under 4 kilos. Therefore a small dog must never walk under an ironing board lest it be snapped shut in the ironing board's legs and held until devoured (or at least, ironed flat) by the laundry aid.

There is no bounds to Buddy's nervousness. We've had him since he was a puppy, and we know his breeders very, very well. We can safely say that he's never had a "bad experience" where an ironing board, a desk fan, a gym ball or any other household appliance is concerned. If we had got him from a rescue centre, we would have assumed that he had been maltreated by gym balls, tortured with desk fans, and been shut in an ironing board.

The truth of the matter is that Buddy has a fertile imagination and an unhealthy nervousness of household objects. Lucky then, that he has a family who love him, and cherish him, and allow him his quirks, and coax him into not being scared any more with treats, honeyed words, and praise.

He's lying sprawled on Mal's half of the sofa, just next to me. He's enjoying the draft of the fan. It's not oscillating. We have reached a compromise. Baby steps.

Well that appears to be it then.

I went to the doctor's yesterday to see whether I should go back to work or not. He said that because I was still experiencing faint spells, that I should not be going back. I might seem ok to do things, but that is because I am managing my symptoms well at my own pace. If I went back to work, then I would not be able to do so, and would likely get worse again.

So, it looks like I don't have to work unless I want to before September 2009. Eeek.

There's a first time for everything...

Friday was a memorable day. It was the first time that I have ever seen the petrol pump go over the £40 mark to fill up the tank on my lovely economical car. Worrying times.

Buddy the dog went to stay at his sister's house, and we went to Dorking for a wedding at the weekend. Beautiful day, beautiful scenery, fantastic company, and a pair of very happy newlyweds. I have never seen my father-in-law so inebriated. He had a few too many wine gums and fell over whilst standing still. Quite amusing, but also shocking in itself as he is normally such a traditional, sensible person who exercises restraint and decorum in such situations.

We then went from Dorking to Wiltshire to collect Buddy, and then back home. I made a cake (hurriedly) and then we went out to hypnobirthing with said cake (it was someone's birthday and I had promised cake).

This week's session was all about falling in love with your baby. Which I have been doing, unless he's doing push ups under my ribs. I don't like him much at that point, but I still love him. He seems to like me singing to him. And he is starting to respond to touch too - if I prod him he often prods back.

Hope is a place on the internet.

I post on a forum on the internet. I started posting there when I was planning Mal's and my wedding, and since then have found my way onto different bits of it and have got to know some of the other posters quite well. I have even met a few of them for a drink. I don't think I've ever met such a high density of just genuinely nice people from one place before.

There are times when I wonder what will become of Mal Jr and what sort of place it will be by the time he enters it, and whether all hope of a decent society will be long lost, and we will forlornly remember the days when neighbours actually cared about one another.

That is, until yesterday. there is one member of the forum - actually, I will stop myself there and call it a community, because it is - who has had some tough luck recently. She is a mother of four and her eldest (15) has been been suffering cruelly at the hands of a mental illness (interim diagnosis received yesterday was bi-polar disorder) resulting in her trying to commit suicide 3 times, and being admitted to a specialist psychiatric unit that deals with children.

S (the person in question) is also well into her 3rd trimester of pregnancy number 5. She is a stay at home Mum and her husband works shifts in a job that keeps food on the table and their heads above water... but not much else. Due to all of the to-ing and fro-ing to hospitals and the like he has used up all of his holiday allowance (that he was saving to use as paternity leave when number 5 arrives) and couldn't afford to take any with the amount of pay that Gordon Brown deems acceptable to give for such occasions.

She was going to make do with a battered pram that had already been used for a number of her children and was on its last legs, too. So a couple of people (TF and H) from the forum decided to do a whip round for S in the hope that we could spread a little happiness and buy her her dream pram (yes, this is the sort of fluff and nonsense that gets discussed on this forum).

So we did. And it was delivered yesterday. And we caused her (in a good way) to be smiling and crying at the same time for most of the day.

And the question of what to do with the change. A few too many people were a bit too generous with their hard-earned. We actually had enough for the pram nearly 3 times over. We had no idea what to do with it all, but bearing in mind that they were in need of a few other things that we probably didn't want to say about, we just gave it to her.

Mr S can now take a week of paternity leave to get to know his new baby, and support his wife.

Nice things do happen to good people. And hope is indeed a place on the internet. It's just a matter now of getting it back into the real world...

Swimming with the Fishes

In keeping with my new drama queen status, I nearly fainted at work yesterday. I decided this was once too many times. So called NHS direct. I could hardly speak to the operator as my head was swimming so much.

She advised me to see a GP asap. So I did. And he signed me off work for a week with postural hypotension. i.e. my blood pressure is pretty low, and my poor head isn't getting the oxygen it needs when it needs it, so nearly blacks out as a consequence. It's caused by moving too quickly, so my body doesn't get the chance to acclimatise and make the necessary adjustments fast enough to catch up with standing up, or going from lying to sitting, or sitting to lying.

Mal Jr is fine though. Perfectly happy, bumbling round in there, jabbing me in the groin, thumping me in the ribs... I think he might be an octopus as I think I get kicks in about 5 directions at once sometimes.

Buddy has relished the opportunity to spend an awful lot of time curled up on me, next to me, sometimes under me... rather than spend the day alone. We have just watched A Fish Called Wanda. It must be the hundredth time I have seen that film, but it doesn't get old. It's one of Kevin Kline's best roles. Especially when he eats the fish. Poor Wanda the angelfish!

I've left the TV on the same movie channel and Buddy and I are now watching Groundhog Day. Another favourite of mine, especially the different treatments of Ned Reierson each time Phil Connors meets him. If the next film is pants, I'll probably start on the DVDs. Lord knows we have enough of them sitting in the dining room. Along with the dishwasher we need installing before Mal Jr gets here. That's a small part of the list really, there is still so much to do!

Drama Queen

Yes, that's me. I have discovered a recent penchant for nearly fainting. I say nearly, as both times it has happened in the last 24 hours I have had the clarity of mind to think "unless I sit down now, I shall fall over unconscious". And then I sit, rather than fall down.

My first error was to attempt to walk the dogs, because it actually turned out that they walked me. I took them into my shop to introduce Yoda to my colleagues. Buddy is already a big hit with them. They agreed that he is much cuter than Yoda. And Yoda is a lot fatter.

On the way back we took the canal towpath (I was literally towed) - full of hooting coots near the lock. Very cute. And then the flight of stairs to get back up to the street where I left the car. I got to the top and my legs felt like lead. I sat down and breathed deeply, trying not to hyperventilate myself into unconsciousness. A lovely, lovely man in a van pulled over to check I was OK. He volunteered to call me an ambulance - I declined because I could feel my composure coming back. But he was a saint for stopping.

The second incident was today. I went home for lunch and I got back into my car to drive back to work, and it was roasting. I opened the windows and opened the sunroof and put the (broken) air conditioning on, but by the time I had driven back and parked, I was feeling woozy and light-headed, and couldn't stand up.

I called the doctor - unfortunately the doctor I spoke to was the one whose usefulness I rate as being about as good as a chocolate fireguard, but she managed to reassure me it was normal.

I feel anything but normal!

Yesterday night I listened to the birthing affirmations CD and the rainbow relaxation CD to kick-start my hypnobirthing experience. The affirmations felt good to say, and I felt that over time they could replace some of the negatives that are associated with birthing for me at the moment.

The rainbow relaxation was something else. I don't remember there being any colours involved at all. I was out like a light before we even got as far as red! I wonder if it will have a similar effect this evening.

Mmmmmmm. Chinese foody smells are filling my nostrils. Mal must have made dinner.

Yoda and the Chicken

I only have 13 shifts to go! I thought it was 14. Happy, happy, happy day! I have today off too. And the sun appears to be shining. For the moment...

I am being stared at by two sets of big brown eyes - not just the usual pair. Buddy's sister has stayed over with us last night. She belongs to The Mothership. Buddy often stands there, staring at you, unblinkingly, a bit like the chicken from Wallace and Gromit. His sister looks a little more dopey - her ears are slightly bigger, and are more prone to pointing out sideways when she's tired, that makes her look like Yoda.

Buddy knows that just because humans are eating does not mean that he will have food. Yoda does not understand this, and at the vague hint of anyone being near the kitchen, will enter at a canter, screech to a halt, and sit there, begging.

She has much worse manners than Buddy. I am so proud of the way we trained him. I sincerely hope that we have as much luck training Mal Jr to be a polite and interesting member of society.

I want to give my mother away

She managed to insult Mal by alluding to the fact that he had put on weight. One thing you must understand about my mother is that she equates her self-worth in how much or how little she weighs. She then thinks this is acceptable to extend to other people.

My sister has PCOS. As a side effect of this, she finds it difficult to lose weight. You can imagine how popular our mother's comments are with her. My mother made comments about me when I was trying on the sample in the shop of the wedding dress I had chosen: "That one gives you back fat". It was the sample and two sizes too small for me... She made a similar comment (to the one that offended Mal) to my brother. Who had the same reaction as Mal. And still she pressed ahead in offending Mal. I don't think she has tried offending my other brother as she knows he'd tell her where to stick it.

Honestly, the woman is a liability. I am beyond furious with her.

We went to a lovely barbecue-cum-banquet with some of Mal's colleagues last night - we had to schlep to the middle of nowhere, and then find the Middle of Nowhere's village green. Upon which there was a house that was beautiful, and built circa 1500 with nooks and crannies and timbers and odd angles and things to discover. The garden was exactly the same, with undiscovered bits and woodland and paths that led between them, and a lake with some baby moorhens, and a wooden playhouse and an orchard. It was just delightful, along with the company. And the mountains of food.

I am now surrounded by dogs (Buddy's sister has come to stay) and Mal, and laptops, and Top Gear. Oh happy evening.

Ignorance and rudeness

I wanted to combust in a puff of purple smoke and never return today. Just vapourise and be at one with the air. To disappear. I felt humiliated, angry, hurt and offended.

Brief synopsis: I work in a shop. Selling clothes. I have a baby-related back problem. This means I cannot stand for 8 hours a day like I used to. Rather than take a massive amount of time off sick (unpaid), I have been thrown the lifeline of work hiring me a wheelchair for a while to help me out. It's great. I can sit down on the job. I can do everything I used to.

People are often less rude to me when I try and engage them in conversation when I am sat in my chair than they would be if I were stood up next to them. I don't know what difference it makes that I have wheels now, but there is a difference. I think it's great. Until today.

I was dealing with someone on the phone from head office - I was at the till point, taking one for the team and letting Head Office chew my ear off about a transaction someone on the team hadn't put through correctly, and have someone remotely log on to the till and correct it.

Another member of staff was waiting by the till to use the phone on behalf of a lady customer. After I got off the phone I wheeled myself to the back of the store and went out to back of house. I was a few minutes then came back.

The team were all stood there, being silent and sort of "trying to act normal when there was an elephant in the room". I asked them what was up, and they told me that the woman had asked in shock and horror "how can she possibly work in a wheelchair?" She then muttered something to one of the girls that she shouldn't bother making the phonecall as it didn't matter. There was another few muttered sentences about it being "despicable" and "disgraceful" as she left the store in a hurry.

I now feel like a freakshow on wheels. There was no way she meant it in a pitying tone ("poor girl, forced to work...") according to the 4 people who overheard her remarks. It sounded to all of them that it was more like "I think it's disgusting that your company hires disabled people". I feel hurt, angry, and upset. With a fair dose of humiliation.

I really feel like I don't want to go to work tomorrow. 2 months of no numpties and I've been fine. One person goes and ruins it all.

16 to go...

Had an amazing time...

Had a great time at the hotel we went to for our anniversary. Got upgraded to one of the suites for the night - bed was massive, bathroom was bigger than the ground floor of our house, complete with roll-top tub with room for two, rubber duckies a waterproof TV and remote control and fluffy towelling robes. Downstairs had a sofa, TV and reading chair.

Had a lovely treatment where they poured hot oil all over my skin and wrapped me up like a turkey, whilst polishing my face clean. Bliss!

Buddy enjoyed himself too - he went to stay with the mothership who has his sister. We have had a "dead dog" all evening today because he has been so very tired.

On Sunday we had a really good beginning to our hypnobirthing experience. We are doing the class with some other couples, who all seem lovely. I am waiting for a copy of the CD and the book which the kind lady instructor will drop over this week. It all seems like common sense in a "why doesn't anyone tell you that?" sort of way. Watching the video was just astonishing. It was like someone was lying in a pool doing some breathing exercises and just happened to float out a baby. I'm sold. I can't wait to go over the breathing exercises and get properly relaxed.

I feel so relaxed and happy from having had 2 and a bit days off work. I shall try not to let it faze me, and be all "Zen Master" about it, and see how I fare. 18 working days to go. I cannot wait to spend my maternity leave as relaxed and happy as this. It's going to be bliss.*

I've felt relatively pain-free over the past 2 days as well. Long may it continue. I think it's because I've been going at my own pace rather than having it dictated for me.

* I now reserve the right to tell anyone that I would rather not listen to their scare stories, their horror stories, their bad experiences of pregnancy and childbirth, or a general negative attitude. Thank you.

The light at the end of the tunnel...

19 to go! Only 19 shifts remain of my pre-baby working life. Bit scary, bit exciting, but it's the only thing keeping me going at the moment. That and the fact that Mal has surpassed himself and for our first anniversary, booked us in at a luxury spa hotel, and arranged that I get cocooned in a load of mud and have my face polished clean for a whole 90 minutes. Being a good wife, I have reciprocated and arranged for some hardcore pain for him in the form of a swedish back neck and shoulder massage. Hmm.

My ever-growing bump is starting to really feel stretched - earlier on today I was starving hungry but had that post-large-dinner "Oh my god I feel like a balloon" feeling like I had eaten too much. I'm feeling a bit like that now.

Tomorrow I have 2 hours of work before I get some paid time off to go to an antenatal class. I'm doing hypnobirthing. This involves figuring out what I'm scared of about the whole thing, and unpicking those fears, finding out why, and dealing with all of that, and then being able to get myself into a deeply relaxed state which I can then access when I go into labour. It has been proven that mothers who use hypnobirthing techniques need less pain relief in labour, which I think is a good thing for me. So tomorrow is about learning to hypnotise myself, followed by a nice trip on Monday to a Spa hotel and chilling out for 24 hours. Bliss!

Had a good day at work today - laughed a lot and the shop took quite a bit of money. We did our weekly target so it will make next week a bit easier. I hate being in "sale" mode - it's like manning a stall at a jumble sale.

As much as I think I'm going to enjoy the hypnobirthing experience, I don't know how much Mal is going to enjoy it or buy into it. He's not really into alternative therapies much, so I don't know how much of a culture shock it's likely to be for him. It doesn't involve techonology, or need things with require batteries, or plug into the mains, and you don't hit it r make music with it, so it's already on the back foot. I hope he gets something out of it. I'm sure he'll blog it if he thinks it all a bunch of hippy claptrap!

why is it always a fight?

I need time off on Sunday to attend a hypnobirthing class. Basically, hypnobirthing is examining your fears surrounding childbirth, unpicking them, and getting yourself into a deep state of relaxation that you can access when the time comes and you have pain to deal with. A lot of people manage drug-free (or at least drug minimal) labours as a result.

Work are being funny about it. Grrrr.

I am sick of fighting for everything.

Counting down the days...

It seems like everything I think of at the moment is a countdown. After a knackering Saturday at work, I am literally counting down the days until I go on maternity leave. I cannot wait. We have a load of staffing issues at work at the moment and I just want out. I can't be bothered to deal with this crap any more, it's like shovelling snow when it's still snowing. 24 days to go!

I can't wait for maternity leave because it's work that makes me feel like crap at the moment. Having to get up when I need another 4 hours sleep, having to go to work and be active which means I spend all of my free time tucked up on the sofa like some sort of strange hibernating creature. Having to haul myself about in a wheelchair and have people give me their "pitying look".

In the same moment as being excited about it, I'm also worried about being on mat leave. Being at home and not doing much is a recipe for boredom, and therefore an inclination to spend money we haven't got. I just know my Mum is going to be suggesting I go over to hers, but at £20 a pop (at the moment) for petrol and a 3hr round trip drive, I'm not going to feel like doing that for much longer. If at all to be honest. I just want to be at home, and potter about. And get things ready for Mal Jr. Lord knows I need to after yesterday's meltdown-freakout!

I don't know if either Mal or I have made it clear, but Mal Jr appeared to be a boy on the scan that we had done about 4 weeks ago. I am glad we know as it makes it easier to get things and be done with it rather than thinking "we'll buy everything in non-gender specific colours" and then wishing we'd bought something else to give people a visual cue as to what gender the baby is.

Big things like the cot, pushchair, etc will all be in neutral colours anyway because if we had another Mini-Mal in the future, there's no guaranteeing it will be the same flavour. And at this point in time I really can't be arsed to shop for it all again!

We've just taken Buddy out for a mammoth walk and I think it's nearly killed him. And me. He had no fight left in him when we tried to put the lead back on him. This is rare. When I say fight, I actually mean run, because he is small and very fast, and difficult to grab when he's trying to avoid you. Mal's at the supermarket, buying necessities and dinner. I wonder what he'll come back with...

The Other Half

I suppose I'd better let everyone read Mal's posts too in the spirit of fairness!

www.malseyeview.blogspot.com

24 down, 16 to go.

I am now 24 weeks pregnant with Mal Jr. 16 weeks to go. 16 weeks sounds like ages yet, but then again, a baby born at 37 weeks or later is considered "term". So really, that could be as little as 13 weeks to go. At which point I am about to start freaking out.

13 weeks is no time at all. We've got some stuff organised, but not everything. We've got a pram and changing bag, and a cot-top changer... but no cot. We've got a few clothes and a blanket or two, and a pack of nappies... but I can't help feeling that I'm missing something huge.

I feel horribly unprepared for everything. I am doing NCT classes but they don't start until September. I am also doing Hypnobirthing with a friend (mates rates, huzzah) and that starts in about a week. Apart from that though, I feel like I know nothing and I should be starting to panic.

Technically If Mal Jr arrived tomorrow he would have a 40% chance of survival. It goes up to 50% at 25 weeks and 60% at 6 weeks. But I feel like I know nothing about anything and won't know anything until a long while yet.

I'm off to find a bag that would do as a Hospital bag. And start filling it up. What with though? Argh.

He forgot the canary.

Hello, I'm Mrs Mal. Spurred on my by husband's new blogging experience yesterday, I thought I'd better join in too.

I'm Mrs Mal, I'm 28, currently sharing the space inside my skin with Mal Jr. and I am chief lover, cuddler and groomer of Buddy the dog. Mal forgot to mention that we also have a canary, Birdie Mal, who sings and showers a corner of our living space with feathers and seed husks. I work as an assistant manager in a shop that sells reasonably posh ladies' clothes. We live in the Home Counties, which appears to be "reasonably posh lady" heartland. So the shop does OK. I make clothes (and a lot of mess) in my spare time, much to Mal's annoyance and despair.

Mal Jr is set to make an appearance in October, and most of this blog will probably be made up of the fears, joys, irritants and tear-jerkers of being a new parent.

Hope someone other than Mal reads it!