Did you see that article in the newspaper about the woman who gave birth mid long-haul flight? Well it wasn’t me 🙂
We rocked up to the airport 3 hours early, I made doe eyes, stuck my belly out and politely asked if it might be possible to upgrade. The BA lady said sure…if we paid for it. Damn. There goes my last chance to rub shoulders with the hoitytoity. C’est la vie.
The flight was OK. The first 8 hours were easy but my legs couldn’t decide if they’d rather mimic elephants or sausages for the last 4. I also pissed off the bitchy flight attendant with my numerous requests for water. Yes, I was drinking a half litre an hour but I did drag my pregnant ass over to them every time, rather than push the button above me like the a
lcoholics wine lovers a few rows down. I was a bit underwhelmed with the airline all in all. The food was horrid and few and far between. We took off at 11am, were fed around 12.30 (chicken and rice) and not again until around 8.30pm our time (a different variety of chicken a rice). Luckily I came prepared with WW’s brownies, crisps and apples so I didn’t have to resort to cannibalism. I will be flying with a different airline next time.
We then arrived in Heathrow and faced a four-hour wait until our flight to Glasgow. After 2 hours I went to the bathroom (again) and was gutted to see that two BA flights to Glasgow had been delayed. WW checked 40 minutes later and hurried back to tell me our flight was now listed as closed. Que a 250 yard 8 month pregnant sprint through Heathrow. WW was just getting started blaming my pregnancy brain when we encountered 6 other people at the gate who had seen the same message. Again the staff were pretty unhelpful and unfriendly but luckily were able to put us on another flight which was boarding right then. We were assured our bags would make it on with us but of course they didn’t.
So, after 24 hours of travelling we were very glad to benefit from my cousin’s hospitality in Glasgow, catching 3 and a half hours sleep before jet lag and Scottish summer woke me up. We were able to get our bags from the airport at midday and then had a 3 hour car ride before finally arriving at my parents’ house in deepest, darkest Scotland.
Only it wasn’t so dark! Miracle of miracles the sun shone for three days straight. Temperatures soared to 26 oC, we went on some lovely walks in the countryside and I got sunburn. Of course it has been 16 oC, overcast and showery spells since then, but summer was nice while it lasted :-).
We’ve been here over a week now and have gotten into the swing of things. We risk the clouds and threatening rain to complete a 2 mile walk every day, which I can now complete without having to stop for a break. Well, I rarely make it round without a pee break but I don’t need to rest any more. I’ve gotten quite adept and fearless about peeing in fields. Thus far I think only the local wildlife has been treated to views of my big, white ass flying high in the skyline. Later we watch some TV or get frustrated by he crappy internet signal and non-existent phone service. And then we cook dinner. Or rather, WW cooks dinner while I offer moral support and tasting expertise.
Pregnancy-wise things are definitely getting more uncomfortable. When I sit or lie down I feel like there is not enough space in my chest for my ribs. When I stand up and start walking it takes me a few steps to stop looking like a Old-Age-Penguin. I have constant gaviscon breath from swigging a pint a day to keep the fires from hell at bay. But I do feel healthier and am sleeping better with all the exercise and fresh air.
I had a chat with the local midwife and am seeing her for the first time this afternoon. She used phrases like ‘if you’re happy with that’ and ‘ if you’re comfortable’ three or four times during our conversation which was a new, somewhat thrilling experience for me. Actual choices and the option to refuse a medical professionals requests? Golly. I’m still expecting to get a hard time about my diet. There has been a lot of cake. A LOT of cake.
My boss emailed me to say that my maternity leave starts the day I give birth, not from the first day of the school term, like I thought, which is a bit of a blow. Now I am torn between feeling uncomfy and wishing Squirt would vacate the premises and praying he’ll overstay so I don’t have to go back until mid November.
Well I think that’s enough slaverin’ for one day.