So, we moved. It was a crazy day, although mostly for poor WW. I pretty much sat at the new house and pointed to the intended location of stuff for the movers. WW, meanwhile was rushing about in the old house packing, supervising the movers, trying to sell the last of our unwanted stuff and receiving translation calls from me and the internet installation woman. Wonderful Wife or Wonder Woman, as she should perhaps be known, then unpacked a bunch of stuff and cleaned most of the house. I, I’m embarrassed to admit, managed to unpack the livingroom between bouts of nausea and make it look pretty. That was about it. Sorry WW.
As the movers were leaving I pretended not to notice one of them checking out our photos and pulling his mate over to look. WW told me he was telling the others we were a couple(!) as they left. Makes me kind of wish they’d stumbled across our troves of lesbian sex manuals, s&m gear, enormous dildos and role play outfits. Joking…or not? You decide.
Moving on from what I’m sure is a charming mental image (you’re welcome), to the title of today’s post. I have been reminding myself it’s Christmas Eve all day because it’s easy to forget. I had to take three breaks the first time we put our tree up and neither of us could face doing it again. My usually visually assalting Christmassy livingroom looks normal. There are no decorations around and no ‘Last Christmas’ being played incessantly. Nothing is closed, nor will it be tomorrow.
I was a bit tempted to let the whole thing slide by, rather uncelebrated as pregnancy seems to have escalated my laziness to previously unrecorded levels, but nay, there shall be a Christmas in suburban Bangko.k! I watched 3 Christmas movies today, ate waaaaay too much Christmas pudding, stuffed the Monster into a Santa costume and said to WW, every 20 minutes ‘It’s Christmas tomorrow.’
As for the big day itself we had made plans to go and eat a scrumptious Christmas carvery buffet in town but we had to cancel. 30 GBP each seems a lot when all I have eaten for the last 4 days is fruit, toast, sandwiches, smoothie and roti with bland cheese. And poor WW hasn’t been able to have a very varied diet either (without me moaning at least) as every smell from fried chicken to chocolate, to quote a corker of a Scottish phrase- ‘gies me the dry boak’.
Other symptoms-wise over the last two days it has become possible to play join-the-dots on my visage. There is a definate pre-bloat roundness to my abdomen although that could be cheese roti related. My boobs now slap me in the face with every step. Well, not really…but almost. Sickness and tiredness are prevailing. But yay ‘cos it’s all a lot more managable when I can just lay about taking it easy rather than dragging my sorry, nauseous ass to work.
Hmmm, anything else to report? Not really. I was at the clinic last Saturday for another delightful intramuscular injection (which randomly wasn’t too bad this week) and the docs fancy scales told me the Week of Toast diet had caused me to lose a little weight. I’m sure this week’s Cheese Roti 3x a Day diet will have put paid to that though.
Overjoyed that I am pregnant, of course but will miss the usual pigging out which is only guilt free for me at this time of year. My parents sent an awesome package filled with Christmassy deliciousness but Squirt is turning the nose to most of it. Only the aforementioned Christmas pud and an amazing box of Stolen have been permitted thus far. How can a child of mine not want to share some flavoured dark chocolate or ferero rocher? A couple of months ago I couldn’t get enough of the stuff. Tres bizarre. I guess we’ll probably make up for it later.
That’s all from me for now folks. Take care and Merry Christmas! See you on the flip side.
PS. There’s been a spate of positive pee sticks on my blogging feed- yay and congrats to all who have made it out of the trenches. To those still down there have some wine, a ton of yummy food and a lovely holiday!