Before you get too excited (or horrified) this isn’t one of those posts, so go and try another google search.*
First of all can I share one of my deepest pet hates. My toes curl, my ears close of their own accord and my eyes roll back into their sockets when anyone starts a sentence with ‘I had a dream…’ (unless they are Martin Luther King). Unless you story is hilarious and less than three sentences of dream description I don’t want to hear about it. Maybe even then, actually. The messed up workings of your unconscious mind are boring to everyone but you.
So, to add a little hypocrisy to my usual BS, here’s some stories about my dreams :-).
But seriously though, since I started using those nasty vagina bullets, and beyond I have been averaging about 2 nightmares a night. At least. It is a possibility that my 231 nightly bathroom interruptions just mean that I am remembering the dreams, whereas before I’d stay asleep and forget them. Whatever, enough already!
Baby based nightmares I could understand but I am not limited to these horrors. I’ve had everything from death (me/WW/pets/the whole world- thanks ‘The Walking Dead’), to falling, getting trapped, out of control classes, bombs- you name it. Granted, it doesn’t help that a lot of the things we watch on TV are pretty messed up but even if I have a day/evening of warm fuzziness it doesn’t seem to matter.
I can’t even wake up and snuggle with WW for comfort are we are separated by a mountain of pillows. We have a king size bed. I occupy about 25% of the space (and growing). My pregnancy pillow occupies a further 35%. My additional 2 fluffy pillows another 15%. The duvet that is too warm for us to sleep under most nights (even with the aircon going at the lowest temp…what can I say? I like to be chilly when I sleep. Even in 40 degree weather) takes up another 15 %. Which leaves poor WW perched on the last 10%, a million miles from me and all my fluffy comfort. Poor WW. Now move over, you’re squishing my between-the-knees pillow!
In other news…
I finally went to the hair dresser yesterday as I am back to work after 3 weeks off on Monday. It was time to lose the mullet. I figured there was less chance of confusion and communication problems if I went with a picture so I spend several hours searching for the perfect ‘do’.
When we arrived WW did not specify the usual hairdresser but said ‘Anyone will do.’ I then spent the whole time in there trying to avoid eye contact with the creator of the mullet. Awkward. Very awkward. I showed some young, cute lad my pic. WW verbally confirmed. We got some reassuring nods and ‘Krub, krub’s.
I asked for this:
photo credit: here.
I received this:
We are still waiting for news of WW’s visa and time is ticking on. I just realized that I am back to school a week and a half before I am granted another 5 days off and all in all there is only 8 weeks total until we fly to the UK. I only have 93 days to go (approx) until Squirt stops kicking me from the inside and starts kicking me from the outside. Deep breaths.
I expressed panic when telling WW these numbers last night and my body concurred by letting go the longest, loudest fart ever. Those are a new development. I hope I return to the sneaky, silent ones before school starts on Monday or I could have some embarrassing moments ahead of me.
I have recently rediscovered the
joy addictive frustration of ebay. Specifically ‘baby bundles’, which are cheap collections of clothes in one size/age group. I am finding some real bargains. But my favorite bit is when someone swoops in with 7 secs to go and tries to outbids me..but loses. Mwahhaha (evil laugh). Seriously though, who does that? …….OK, me. But in my defense I had been trying to locate an affordable Ergo baby carrier for days. And I got up at 3am my time just to see the end of the auction. Suckers.
So we are now the proud owners of : a crib, a small bed for beside our bed (definitely not fancy enough to be described as a Moses basket), a cheap and basic baby bouncy chair, a pack and play with a changing table,17 assorted items for newborns, 20 assorted items for 3-6 months, a manual breast pump and a baby carrier. I feel wholly unprepared. All of the big things are here in Thailand and will not be making the trip to the UK with us. If anyone reading this in the UK would like to offer us a loan of newborn necessities for the 3-4 weeks we’ll be there I would be deeply grateful. Top priorities are somewhere to sleep and a car seat.
We are going to hold off on the buggy for now and see how we get on with the carrier as Bangkok is not a stroller friendly environment and rarely offers walkable pavements, let alone roll-able pavements. I know we’ll need to buy nappies and wipes and baby bath stuff and gentle washing machine liquid. But what else? Help me please all the mummies out there! But bear in mind we are on a tight (tight tight) budget, WW is…ehem….frugal and I hate clutter, so we are talking about necessities. Sound machines, for example, are not within our buying reaches.
Well, my weight gain continues to slow but my bump is getting bigger. I bought a speedo one-piece 3 weeks ago to combat the thin-belt-around-enormous-saggy-breasts bikini issue. I can’t get it over my belly already. Damn.
I though I was past the ‘is she pregnant or fat?’ stage but maybe not as a Thai bathroom attendant told me I was really fat in Thai the other day. Thanks. She didn’t bat an eye when I stroppily told her I wasn’t fat, I was 6 months pregnant (in Thai- check me!). She just continued to stare. So I went and ate a big bowl of ice cream to cheer myself up.
Squirts kicks are getting less cute and more ouchy by the day. Those ‘beautiful legs’ are certainly getting a work out in there.
My indecisiveness continues. I leave the house and need to pee desperately 30 seconds down the road. WW offers me food, I decline and then become ravenously hungry 3 minutes later.
And here’s another boob moan. I’m sure most of you know a girl whose body you admire/are jealous of. This jealousy become especially bad when you are watching your own body stretch and swell. Try living with that person during that time. This photo is a case in point:
What? Did a pre-tween move in with us and I neglected to tell you? Nope. That is my wife’s teeny tiny bra, next to my scaffolding. Yes, ma’am. Hers is the body shape I compare myself to daily. My areolae are not covered by that pathetic excuse for a bra. I think my training bras were more substantial. That gigantic bra is too small for me and I can’t buy a bigger one because the rest of the country is wearing WW’s size. Excuse me while I plunge into a pit of deep depression and boob ache.
Heartburn. Ooof. Every evening I worry I might drown in my own angry stomach acid.
Spots on my chin but dry, flaky fish scales below my lip. Go figure.
Cravings? Cake. Biscuits. Cake. Kellogs Honey Nut Cornflakes. More cake. Also, somewhat surprisingly, salad. Although I think it’s mostly because the ‘I did good’ feeling salad gives me combats the guilt later when I stuff an enormous wedge of cake down my gullet later.
Anyhoo, it’s almost time for the ‘last day of holidays’ treat. What fun activities can a pregnant lady do in Bangkok in the hot season? Eat, of course. We’ve booked ourselves into a fancy hotel for a fancy buffet lunch. Yum yum.
*I googled ‘pregnant lesbian Bangkok’ yesterday to see if people would be able to locate my ramblings, should they so desire. They can, but they’d have to scan through 3 pages of XXX por.n to find me. And really, how often to people make it past the first page of google search results? Who knew that pregnant lesbians were such a turn on for the por.n hungry masses?