Baby whispering

On one of my outings with Baby in the stroller, I went to the library to get some parenting books, since this has become my new reading obsession. Tracy Hogg's Secrets of the Baby Whisperer was fun to read and offers a middle ground between the regime of strict routines at one extreme, and no routine at all at the other.

The idea is to figure out what kind of personality your baby has (angel, textbook, spirited, senstive or grumpybum, and I think ours is a "spirited" baby) and use that knowledge to work out what it is he or she is crying about. Hogg's "routine" is a three-hourly cycle of feeding, activity and sleep. This doesn't yet work with Baby because sometimes she goes from waking to feeding, back to sleeping again. In the evenings, she'll go from feeding to activity, then fussing instead of sleeping, before it's feeding time again.

The last two weeks of broken sleep and unfamiliar work (babycare, that is) are finally taking their toll. I now sport three highly visible zits on my upper lip, am constantly dehydrated, have had tension headaches for the last two days and feel (and look) like I've been up all night drinking.

Four more weeks to go before, maybe, she sleeps through.

The end of the sleepiness

I think it's official - Baby is no longer the super-sonambulist she once was. At first she was such a good sleeper that neither foot-tickling nor cold, wet flannels did anything to awaken her; now she seems to be hard to put down to sleep and even harder to keep asleep. Evenings are routinely fraught with the two of us trying for hours to calm her down enough to fall asleep, and now mid-mornings are the same.

Funnily enough, putting Baby in the buggy really helps. In desperation this morning, I put Baby in the buggy in preparation for a nice long walk, in an attempt to get her to fall asleep after two hours of unwanted wakefulness - she stopped squawking and closed her eyes as soon as she was strapped in and before the buggy's wheels even moved.

It's now been two hours since she fell asleep, including an hour walking around the shops. What a pity some bastard has just started to mow the lawn next door.

Regurgitator

As I slowly get used to sleeping in three-hour installments, unannounced visits from my mum bearing unusual medicinal foods, being a one-woman Dairy Queen and planning short walks around the block as though they were expeditions...we now have to contend with Baby's little foibles.

I'm starting to recognise when she's crying because she needs a nappy change or help with burping, rather than food. It's a mystery though, why she sometimes regurgitates her food and then demands more milk. It's also a little frustrating because when she offers back portions of her meal, it means yet another change of clothes. Now I understand why a drawer full of bodysuits and babygrows does not constitute an excess of baby clothing.

We're still working out Baby's sleeping arrangements. Despite having the nursery all set up and ready well before Baby's arrival home, we ended up not using it at all (except as a place to store her things). The boy wanted her to sleep in our bedroom , so we moved her cot in there. But she has hardly slept in it, because her hammock is so comfy - and the hammock is hung up in the lounge because it's a much warmer room. And now I'm sleeping in the lounge too, because it's easier for me to be in the same room with Baby when it's time to feed her, change her nappy and wash my hands afterwards. So much for expectations.

Home alone with Baby

The boy started back at work today, and unfortunately for him Baby chose last night to play up until 2am. Not that it was completely uncharacteristic of her, but we'd given her one of those so-called relaxing deep water baths (she was in the tub with him) and was hanging loose right up until it was time for us all to go to bed.

As grumpily sleep-deprived as he was though, the boy managed to get to work without falling asleep at the wheel. It's been a few hours now on my own and I haven't yet had one of those momemts when Baby can only be consoled by her daddy (possibly because he doesn't smell like food, possibly because he's got a soothingly deep voice)- there's at least one of those every day.

It's quite tempting to encourage Baby to sleep the day away, since it leaves me free to snooze, do the dishes, blog or whatever - but I know that it would be a better idea to keep her awake so that she'll tire by evening. On the other hand, just because I decide that day time is play time, doesn't mean that Baby is going to go along with it. Boy, does she love her bouncy hammock.

I hope the midwife gets here soon; I'm dying to take Baby out in the stroller again.

Baby sleeps and Baby feeds *

Baby has this habit of being at her most fully awake between about 7pm and 1am, when nothing we do will get her drowsy. This is preceded by a few hours in which she is so sleepy that nothing we do will keep her eyes open for more than a second. And what it adds up to is less sleep for mummy and daddy.

I've been reading a couple of books about baby sleep, both lent to me by Make Tea Not War. The New Contented Little Baby Book, by Gina Ford, sounds really promising, especially to an inexperienced and unsure new mum like myself. Barker is really assuring and confident that her method of putting a baby into a routine right from birth, will result in a baby who will only get her mum out of bed once in the night. It was her assuredness that got me convinced to try her fascist-sounding feeding and sleeping regime.

However, Baby wouldn't fall asleep when she was supposed to, nor be wide awake on schedule.

So I had a look at the other book, Mark Weissbluth's Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. He's pretty much at the other extreme in saying that you can't make a baby do anything other than what it's going to do anyway - at least for the first six months of it's life. I found his ideas reassuring too, because it meant I haven't been doing anything wrong and lets me off the hook if Baby is a sleep rebel.

So I was wondering, what do other people with young children think about the whole idea of putting very young babies into a routine? Has it worked for them, or did they just let their babies set their own pattern?

*Baby also does incredibly on-the-nose baby farts, but that's off the subject.

First outings

Yesterday I realised I was going to have to obtain some new bras and nursing tops. We'll be getting visitors from now on, and if Baby happens to get the munchies while they're here I'm not sure that I want them to see more of my torso and boobies than strictly necessary.

So during that brief period in the afternoon when Baby was fed and the boy was able to spare an hour to play with her, I drove into town to get myself some nursing bras. (Don't tell my mum though, because as far as she's concerned I'm supposed to be housebound for four weeks.) Less than an hour after I left home, I'd returned with two DD cup bras. I'm now nicely supported, but - my, how I've grown!

Baby had her first outing too, today. I decided to take advantage of the boy's last day off before going back to work on Monday, so we went out to buy a baby buggy with the money which my mum had generously gifted us. It was only a five minute drive to the baby gear shop, but we still had to get Baby all warmly dressed and the baby bag packed - just in case. While the shop assistant cooed over Baby, we picked a fine MacLaren all-terrain three-wheeler jogger, which folds down nice and compact and comes with a fleecy sleeping bag. The boy was so excited that as soon as we got home with it he insisted on unpacking it and going for a test run (up and down the hallway) with Baby strapped up in it. We can't wait to take her out for a walk tomorrow (but again, don't tell my mum or she'll have a fit).

Oh yeah, and I also bought some horribly expensive but effective nursing tops so my visitors don't get too much of an eyeful.

Bringing home the bacon

One of the things the boy has been doing this week, is to visit the supermarket every couple of days to stock up on heat'n'eat meals, chocolate (for the anticipated baby blues), cakes (also mostly just for me) and anything else he thinks I need.

He even bought me several packs of maternity pads, which meant having to ask various ignorant male staff where the hell they were (they didn't even know what they were).

Funnily enough, this abundance of snackables hasn't lead to all-day food binges. Ordinarily, if I were stuck at home all week I'd be at the biscuits and toast and cakes like a starved sugar demon.

Maybe it's the preggy-headedness.

Other things:
Thank goodness that the rock-hard booby situation seems to have resoved itself. Today they're back to their normal texture.
My finger joints, which have been creaky with water retention for the last few days, are almost back to normal.
So far today I've been able to sit without pain. Could it be that they have finally reached a state of repair which transcends the need for Panadol? Go, stitches!

Rock-hard boobies

That's something I forgot to add to the list on yesterday's post. I really don't know how I could've actually forgotton though, since they just get in the way whenever I move my arms. For the first time in my life I'm probably a D-cup, and not in a soft Dolly Parton-y kind of way either. Probably they feel more like a silicon implant job gone wrong. I hear cabbage leaves are a good fix.

The aftermath - a list

1. One really good thing about being pregnant is the nine months without periods. Then you give birth and have to put up with the biggest period you're ever going to have in your life (that is, if you're a natural-born female).

2. The ache in the lower back which dogged me throughout my third trimester, is still here now that I don't have all that extra weight to carry around.

3. Now that Baby is no longer part of my body, I feel kinda thin. Until I notice that I still look about four months pregnant.

4. Stitches in the perineum are a pain in the arse.

5. Cradling Baby to sleep, and supporting her during feeds, is really good exercise for the arms and shoulders.

6. I've learned that, according to Chinese tradition, I shouldn't eat fruit for some weeks after having given birth. Stuff that.

7. The boy makes a great doula. What a pity he'll have to go back to work soon.

8. Breastfeeding is hard.

9. Watching a baby making funny faces in her sleep can be more fascinating than watching television.

The little darling

Thanks for all your lovely comments, people.

Well, here she is, off to sleep again after enduring a nappy change (it really is true that even very small babies produce a very large amount of poo) and a feed.

And no, we aren't calling her Jonquil.

Baby's home

For those of you who may have been taking bets on the birth...

the little darling, born at just after 3am on 11 August, is a gorgeous wee girl weighing 3.66 kgs. The midwife, the boy and my mum all reckon she looks just like her father.

If you don't want to read all the gory details, it's best to skip the rest of this post...

Wednesday
After a night of period-like cramps and waking up wondering about little plot inconsistencies in the Buffy episodes I'd been watching the previous evening, my waters broke. It was about 7 in the morning, and I rushed off to the toilet to make sure I hadn't simply done an accidental wee. Nope, definitely amniotic fluid.

We only live up the road from the hospital, but took the car anyway - I almost regretted it because it took ages to find a car park there (how ridiculous, that a hospital patient can't get a park at the hospital car park!). Anyway, after 20 minutes hooked up to the monitor, the midwife sent us home for the afternoon. I was to return at 6pm for an overnight stay, and I'd be induced the next morning if necessary.

Four hours of Buffy episodes and many lower back pains later, we were at the antenatal ward and I was 3 cm dilated. I was pretty damned keen to get an epidural as soon as it was practical to, but every time the midwife checked my stats she told me I wasn't yet in established labour and it was too early for drugs.

Thursday, in the wee hours
My god, but those later contractions hurt. It felt exactly as though my pelvic bones and lower spine were being pushed apart by a malevolent life force (which was in fact the case except for the malevolent bit). Truly, it seemed apalling to me that any woman would have to suffer this much before getting any pain medication. I swear, if I'd known just how much it was gonna hurt I would have opted for getting a puppy.

At 2am the midwife hooked me up to the monitor again. For some reason, those contractions which were massive enough to leave my shaking uncontrollably, were hardly registering on the little graph. She examined me anyway, and found that I was fully dilated. I thought it meant that at last I could get that epidural.

The midwife told me it was too late for that; it was time to push the baby out.

So I was wheeled off to the delivery room. With every contraction, I pushed as though I meant to force out the biggest poo of my life. So I did. And I did.

Unfortunately, Baby didn't come out as easily as a poo. Baby's heart rate fell enough to worry the midwife, who called the obstetrician, who decided Baby really had to come out right now. Apparently Baby was getting a bit tired (but surely not as tired as I was).

What happened next was:

a decision to use the ventouse cup to suck Baby out while I pushed - when he put it inside me it felt like some kind of reverse birth;

orders to push with my mouth closed, which was impossible to follow because I was far too busy screaming loudly and in agony;

sudden relief as Baby slipped out and gave a mighty cry;

and several stitches in my perineum.

Friday
Thank the gods that the labour and childbirth are all over. Unfortunately I still have to contend with: the period-like contractions for my uterus shrinking back to its normal size and place; loads of bleeding; and the surprisingly painful stitches, leading to very careful sitting and a dread of my next poo. Baby has had a few goes at being breastfed, tried out her new cot and her bouncy hammock, and produced quite a large amount of black tarry poo. She's a real sleeper.

Impatiently waiting with ginger and fantasy novels

Those Braxton Hicks contractions are only happening in the evenings, and still haven't turned into anything more regular or painful. It's not that I like pain, because I don't, but if it isn't painful then it isn't labour. And I am really ready for labour.

My mum came by this morning with large jars of pickled ginger. It was good that she came, since she needed the excuse to get out of the house and get some exercise, but I would have been a lot less annoyed if she'd told me she was coming. When she turned up with her friend and his grandson (neither of whom I know well), it was only 9.30am and I was slobbing around in a dressing gown - not exactly presentable.

I finished the book I was reading, Daughter of the Empire. I normally stay away from fantasy because they tend to be full of unpronuncable names and require a comprehensive glossary at the back, but this one wasn't so bad. It turned out to be all about political intrigue in an exotic Eastern-sounding world where honour is all important, swords are made from hide because of the scarcity of metal and silk is spun by people-sized insectoid aliens. First I had to get over the improbability that a 17-year-old cloistered girl, Mara, could possess sufficient native cunning and deviousness to manipulate powerful, experienced Lords. After that it got enjoyable. I'm now reading the sequel, Servant of the Empire, in which the same girl falls for the charms of a red-haired (and suspiciously English-sounding) barbarian slave called...wait for it...Kevin.

Buffy Wish List

As one does when there is a general lack of news, I spent a little time yesterday on Amazon making a wish list of Buffy books I don't already have. It's also over on the sidebar in case, erm, you're feeling generous...

Progress

Last night I had a few Braxton Hicks contractions; according to the handout I got at one of the antenatal classes, this means I'm at the "last few weeks of pregnancy" stage. I called the midwife anyway, just to let her know that at last something was happening, but she just said it didn't really mean anything until the contractions started hurting.

So in the meantime, here are a couple of shots of the Baby-less nursery.

In the top photo is the travel cot (note the big wall space still waiting for the giant marine jigsaw puzzle and the clay relief of Ganesh).

In the photo just above is the leather recliner (currently topped by the boy's sleeping bag), table and Pooh pictures (Piglet is there, but he was store-bought). You can just see a fragment of the big flower mobile hanging from the ceiling.

I know, the wall colour is atrocious.

another meme

I was tagged by Heather, and besides I don't have anything else to post because I'm still not in labour...

WHAT'S YOUR FULL NAME? Are you crazy? I’m not revealing my full name on my blog...

WHAT ARE YOU READING AT THE MOMENT? Daughter of the Empire By Raymond Feist and Janny something

WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? A fancy picture of a hard drive

WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? That horrible feeling in your stomach when you get really bad food poisoning.

FIRST THING YOU THINK OF IN THE MORNING? Is today the day I give birth?

HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE? It depends on how close I am to the phone.

FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? We haven’t decided yet for sure, but in the interest of blog anonymity I wouldn’t say anyhow.

WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT IN LIFE? Being adequately fed, watered and loved.

IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE? guitar

DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? Nah, my highest speed on the motorway is probably only 110 km/hr.

DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? I don’t have to, because I have a real, live boy to sleep with.

WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? A Honda Civic. And I still have it.

WHO DO YOU WISH YOU COULD GO BACK AND TALK TO? There’s no-one I would want to talk to that I'd have to go back and talk to.

FAVOURITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK? Peach schnapps and orange, but that’s back in the days when I could have a couple of drinks and not fall over.

WHAT'S IN THE BOOT OF YOUR CAR? Until this afternoon, a really large chilly bin. Now it’s empty.

DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? Yes.

IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT BE? When I was single, I would have said ‘travel writer’. Now, I don’t know.

EVER BEEN IN LOVE? yes

IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL? I alternate between the two

DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? Yup – I taught myself to touch type when I was thirteen.

WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? Dust.

WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE NUMBER? three

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SPORT TO WATCH? None of them. I hate watching sport.

IF YOU COULD BUILD A HOUSE ANYWHERE WHERE WOULD IT BE? Somewhere in the far north of NZ, on the coast. I’d be able to charge high rental when we’re not living there ourselves because the weather’s nice and lots of rich folk go there in the summer.

WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE ARTICLE OF CLOTHING? At the moment my maternity jeans. Hopefully in a few months’ time it will be something non-maternity.

BEACH, MOUNTAINS OR CITY? City by the beach

TECHNOLOGY OR ART? Art

COMEDY OR HORROR? comedy

FAVOURITE PHYSICAL FEATURE OF THE OPPOSITE SEX? Eyes, arms and bum.

FAVOURITE TIME OF DAY? In the evening after the boy has come home from work, finished his relaxation ritual in front of his computer and is about to make us dinner.

WHERE'S YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE TO BE? Anywhere, if it’s on holiday.

FAVOURITE PLACE TO BE MASSAGED? Neck and shoulders

WHAT'S MOST IMPORTANT, STRONG IN MIND OR STRONG IN BODY? Mind

WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? Nowadays, around 9.30 – 10am

DO YOU BELIEVE IN AN AFTERLIFE? no

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SEASON? Autumn, because the weather’s warm and settled.

YOU COULD HAVE ONE SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE? It’d be neat to be Elastigirl, and be able to change the size of my hips or whatever with super-ease.

WHICH DO YOU PREFER - SUSHI OR HAMBURGER? Hamburger, unless I have to eat it all the time. Besides, I’m not allowed to eat raw fish in my condition.

IF YOU HAVE A TATTOO, WHAT IS IT? I don’t have any tattoos.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE DAY? At the moment every day is the same – non-labour day.

Flying Kiwi, you're up next. Otherwise, anyone who wants to pick it up is welcome to.

It shoulda been today

The family is getting jittery, calling at least once a day to ask whether I'm in labour yet. My mum even rang three times before 10am this morning (before I'd even got out of bed!), because someone rang her before she could get to the phone and it made her worry that it might have been me.

My daily walks are getting shorter due to the bump discomfort, and my marathon DVD-watching sessions are more frequently interrupted by my awkward attempts to change positions - but there's been no other progress.

On the other hand, I'm not yet desperate enough to down a bottle of castor oil (ugh, yucky), coax the boy into labour-inducing sex (I'm feeling so unsexy right now) or order hot 'n' spicy food (I've gone off it).

Or maybe it's more subtle than that. Once Baby emerges into the outside world I can say goodbye to the luxury of sleeping through the night (albeit with massive snoring sessions and having to wake up just to turn over) and being responsible only for my own feeding and watering. Maybe my body is getting mixed signals from my subconscious and doesn't how to resolve them.

Maybe it's just as well that it's not all up to me.

nothing new on the childbirth front

It was just another fabulously warm and sunny mid-winter day, completely devoid of early labour signs. It's getting to the point where I'm tempted to peer into my knickers every few hours in case the "show" appears. Almost.

I started reading one of the boy's fantasy books, Daughter of Empire by Raymond Feist and someone else, though who knows how long I'll stick with it. It's part of a trilogy, and fantasy isn't usually my thing, but it should at least make a refreshing change from the other stuff I've been reading up till now.

For wont of anything else to post, I'd planned to show you some photos of the almost-but-not-quite-finished nursery, but unfortunately the batteries in the digital camera are completely flat so they'll just have to wait.

Apparently now is the time I should start eating rice stir-fried with plenty of ginger; I'm not quite clear on the reason for this, but it's supposed to ensure that I can eat plenty of vegetables afterwards, without fear of causing an imbalance in my chi.

Slacker in the sun

Today has been just fabulous, weather-wise. It was a bit chilly indoors in the morning, but hey - it is mid Winter after all. Eventually I went for a waddle around the block to warm up my feet, and when I returned I took one of my dining chairs out into the back yard to sit in the sun and read.

It’s amazing how pleasurable just sitting around with a book, outdoors in warmth and sunshine, can be - it feels like actual activity. Doing the same thing on a cold, grey day just feels like filling in time. In fact, I must've been out in the back yard for three or four hours and was loathe to leave my sunny position even to make myself snacks (and I've been needing lots of those).

I’ve just finished Survivor by Chuck Palahniuk (who wrote Fight Club). That guy sure has a weird imagination – the anti-hero of this book is the last surviving member of a cult a suicide pact, who ends up becoming a major media celebrity. He works as a super-domestic for a professional couple, "plants" fake flowers stolen from a mausoleum into their garden and his hobby is his own telephone "Help" line. Palahnuik makes me wonder whether he takes hallucinogenic drugs.

Still no sign that Baby wants to leave his womb.

No head for dates

It turns out that all these months I've been remembering the wrong date as my due date. I'm actually due on the 5th, which is this Friday (not the 7th - Sunday).

Perhaps that's why today, it feels as though Baby is using my bladder as a trampoline.

Any day now I will be able to once more sleep without the body pillow. It's not that I don't like using it, it's just that every time I turn over onto my left side I inadvertantly poke the boy in the bum with it.

No news is no news

I have a feeling Baby's going to be a latecomer, because so far none of the pre-labour signs have even hinted at appearing - no "show" (of the mucous plug that is, I won't go into details), no leaking (from the boobs), no Braxton Hicks contractions and no bumping of Baby's head against my pelvis. Baby seems quite happy to stay snug and cosy in the womb, doing extra agile somersaults when I have the television volume up too high. (I fear that the Buffy theme music is deeply embedded in Baby's brain by now.)

Every day my mum rings up to ask me whether I've gone out or not. For some reason, she's worried that I mustn't stray too far from home in case I go into labour and am not conveniently close to a telephone (although I have a mobile). As always, I do what she says but only when it suits me - I'll go out for walks despite her worries, because I could do with the fresh air and exercise, but I will probably follow her advice about staying at home and not doing any housework for a month after the birth.

I know I've had about nine months to psych myself up for this, but I still have those moments when I can't believe I'm soon to become a mother.

I think this means I'm a Zoolander fan

the Ham (47% dark, 47% spontaneous, 27% vulgar)

your humor style: CLEAN | SPONTANEOUS | LIGHT Your style's mostly goofy, innocent and feel-good. Perfect for parties and for the dads who chaperone them. You can actually get away with corny jokes, and I bet your sense of humor is a guilty pleasure for your friends. People of your type are often the most approachable and popular people in their circle. Your simple & silly good-naturedness is immediately recognizable, and it sets you apart in this sarcastic world. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Will Ferrell - Will Smith

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on dark You scored higher than 99% on spontaneous You scored higher than 99% on vulgar

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating

I found it on Make Tea Not War's blog.

The Harry Potter book

Hmmm...I can't say I didn't enjoy reading it, because I did. And yet...it wasn't really exciting. I'd gotten most of the way through the book before I realised that I was still waiting for the exciting bits to start. Then there was an exciting bit - fighting the Death Eaters in Hogwarts Castle - and then it was all over.

I found it more interesting than gripping - quite a lot about Voldemort was explained but not a lot happens otherwise and the Big Bad himself doesn't actually show up at all.

Probably the most disappointing thing about this book is that it felt more like a deliberate Part One of a two-part series, rather than a stand-alone story of its own. Of course, having said all that, I will probably read the final installment even if it's only to find out how it all ends.

Not today either

But my mate Desiree came over with a bag full of toys for Baby, a Loony Toons cross-stitch picture (hand crafted!), and The Life of Brian on DVD. I've only seen Brian once or twice, and the last time was ages ago, so I was really pleased that it's still as funny as I remember. And the song at the end, Always look on the bright side of life, is just about the most life-affirming crucifixion song I've ever come across...

Not today

I'm wondering whether I ought to have some sort of daily automatic blog post which reads "I'm not having the baby, I just don't have anything to blog about today".

Life isn't exactly eventful at the moment you see, but if I go a couple of days without a post then people might start to imagine I'm already at the hospital, straining like I'm about to push out the biggest poo in history (no really, I've been told that's what it's like).

I've been filling my hours with reading blogs and books and watching Buffy Season 7. Season 7 is way better than I remember it being too; my memory of it was endless episodes in which Buffy tries lead the Potentials, but the first 6-8 episodes (what I've been watching on DVD so far) are actually pretty damn good.

My favourite Season 7 episode so far is the one which is all about Anya. It's got humour (where, as a human, she turns her "big, dumb" boyfriend into a troll and is offered a position as vengence demon), the most gorgeously performed musical number ("Mrs", better than any of the songs in Season 5's Once More with Feeling), horror (frat boys with their hearts ripped out), conflict (Buffy decides to kill Anya, Xander tries to stop her) and tragedy (Anya offers up her life in return for reversing the spell, but loses her closest friend instead).

This episode was so good I watched it three times in one day.

On being at home during business hours

These days I'm reminded of just how many bible-bashers and salespeople I missed out on when I was working. Only yesterday I had to fob off two polite old ladies who wanted to save me from Hell and damnation. If I had the cheek, I'd say tell such people that I'm a Pagan (the boy would, but then - he really is a Pagan), and on the look out for human sacrifices. However, I'm so polite that I actually let them give me their little speech before turning them away.

Sometimes I'm a little more alert. When I hear the doorknocking, I tiptoe into the front room and peek out of the window to see who's there. If it isn't someone I actually want to see, I just pretend I'm not home.

Fortunately we aren't bothered by Mormons **. There is a whole nest of 'em living at the end of our street, but I think they must have a rule about not hunting too close to home or something; they generally don't come to our door. No, mostly it's the Jehovah's Witnessess ("Jehovah Jehovah Jehovah!" Sorry, that's my Life of Brian memories coming back) and people trying to sell vaccum cleaners, discount books and home ventilation systems.

Then there're the telemarketers. Admittedly, it's better than them ringing up during dinner or in the middle of BtVS (reruns still showing on Sky One), but really, any time is a bad time to be called up by telemarketers. Even if I can fob them off by claiming to be outside their demographic (which means pretending to be under fifteen), or a non-consumer of their products (i.e pretending I don't drink commercially made beverages), it's still five minutes of my precious pre-labour resting time which have been stolen.

I think my non-English-speaking mum has an advantage over me when it comes to unwanted callers.

**Postscript - I should perhaps have made myself clear that, when I said there were a nest of Mormons at the end of our street, I meant there was a nest of Mormon missionaries, as opposed to a God-fearing Mormon family which respects other people's right to their own beliefs (or non-beliefs, in my case). I didn't mean to offend all Mormons. I did mean to offend door-to-door missionaries.

Our baby is gonna be a drama queen!

This horoscope was picked up from a parenting website...

Your Leo Baby - The Lion July 22nd - Aug 23

The Leo baby is, above all else, loud! Forget sleep for the foreseeable future, Mum and Dad. This is a baby who must be heard and will certainly let everyone in their midst know what they want. Think centre of attention, since there really is no other place to be for this tot! With a Leo baby as part of the plan, family life will revolve around this magnetic child.

The Leo baby adores an audience, so it should come as no surprise that many of these tots go on to become stars of stage and screen. This babe is auditioning early on! To that end, this is a child who is also competitive, so maybe they are prepping for that dog-eat-dog Hollywood whirl from day one. When in a playgroup or any social situation, the Leo baby will make friends easily and will thrive on the interaction, since being on-stage is where they're at. Even so, they will have a hard time sharing things such as roles, responsibilities, even toys. The king (or queen) of everything they see, they will be the one making the rules. To sum up, the Leo baby is the leader of the pack, loads of fun and will expect to live in the most comfortable of kingdoms. Pity the parent who won't play along!

Bedtime reading

The stack of books I've been lent to read have proved to be not quite perfect for bedtime reading. It's not because they've been less than good reads; it's because they're too large to hold open in one hand while lying in bed. This especially applies to Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, which is big enough to be problematic even when I'm holding it with both hands and sitting upright. However, it hasn't stopped me from finishing it.

I took me a while to get through this book, partly because it's such a big, thick book and partly because of the content. It's written in a 19th century style and chockful of distracting footnotes which, though usually interesting or amusing, don't necessarily add to the narrative. But in the end I'm glad I persisted because I ended up enjoying it tremendously. Like I've said before, it's sort of a Harry Potter for grown-ups. Not that it's more serious, just that the writing style would probably bore the same child who'd tear through J. K. Rowling's latest.

I've passed it onto the boy to read, because I suspect that many of the book's references to English magic are based on actual English folklore or magic lore. He likes that kind of thing you see, because he has a bit of Ripper in him (gratuitous BtVS reference).

I've also finished Atonement by Ian McKewan. Set in a pre-WWII upper class English country estate and WWII France and London, it's about the consequences of a young girl's over-active imagination which puts her older sister's new boyfriend in prison. Quite a large portion of the book is about the boyfriend, after his sentence has been truncated to allow him to enlist in the army. The last chapters tell how the girl, now grown up, tries to make up for what she did. Perhaps it's because this isn't the kind of book I normally read, but throughout most of the book I was simply impatient for something to happen.

On the other hand, the ending made reading it worthwhile because the focus is back on the main issue of the story, and McKewen doesn't try to give us a Hollywood-happy ending.

From the long term memory banks

My extraordinarily practical mum has convinced my rellies in Hong Kong that, instead of buying clothes and things for the baby, they ought to send me money. While I was sitting there hearing her tell me this, I tried to think of what gifts we could do with which would have been cheaper to buy in Hong Kong than in NZ - plenty, probably.

I remember us receiving regular parcels from Hong Kong when we were kids. (It was a mini cargo cult at our house). Usually it was stuff like dehydrated herbs and animal parts, bed linen and clothes which were either way too big, way too small or way too cute for us to wear.

One item I particularly remember finding in one of these parcels was a box of those educational cue cards parents use to teach kids how to recognise words, only these ones were bilingual. There was one with a picture of a cute pink piglet on it, and of course the word 'pig' in English and Chinese. When my mum told me how to pronounce the word in Cantonese I thought it was the funniest thing ever, because it sounded exactly the same as the name of my mum's best friend. It was actually quite some time before I realised that my mum's friend's name was not Pig, but Pearl. (This is where Cantonese-speaking readers will guffaw until the cereal they're eating comes out of their nostrils, because they know that those two words are homonyms.)

Any day now

Although, technically, the baby is not due for another 12 days, it could in fact happen any day now. I read somewhere that about eighty percent of babies are born within ten days of their respective due dates, so if you find I haven't posted for a few days then you should probably assume it's all happening.

The boy has getting prepared - he's committed to limiting his alcohol intake to one drink per day until the baby is born, just so that he's fit to drive 24/7. At first, I thought he was doing this as a health thing (because I'm always nagging at him to look after himself more). But almost giving up the booze for a couple of weeks, rather than completely giving it up forever, is still better than nothing.

We picked up our rental infant car seat this morning. The woman we dealt with seemed to be having trouble getting it all buckled up in the back seat, which was a bit of a worry. If a seasoned professional is struggling with it, how long is it going to take for me to handle the thing with ease?

I've been avoiding driving for the last couple of weeks - it's just uncomfortable - so my car's been sitting in the garage used. On the way to the rental place with it this morning, we managed stall several times and flood the engine because we didn't give it enough time to warm up.

I even got my sister out-law to come visit me instead of vice versa, even though she'd have to bring her two young kids with her. She brought cake and I supplied our giant sea-themed jigsaw puzzle for my nephew to occupy himself with. In the short hour they were here, the kids founds several places to leave food - on the kitchen floor, on the living room rug, in the chair in the nursery, behind the rubbish bin and inside one of the boy's boots.

nursery update

Finally, finally, I thought we were going to finish the nursery. All that was needed was to put up the various wall hangings, pictures and mobile.

Last weekend the boy had bought a staple gun to attach the giant foam rubber jigsaw puzzle to one wall (it's a big underwater sea-life picture). But then he found out that the staples he'd gotten didn't fit the staple gun. I was just itching to get all the other bits and pieces up on the wall, but I thought it would be a good idea to get the jigsaw puzzle up first because it's so big. So I waited.

This weekend the boy went back to the hardware shop to get the right size staples. Those jigsaw pieces are pretty thick, so I was expecting him to come home with the 14mm staples. He came home with 8mm staples.

And, of course, the staples weren't big enough to go through the jigsaw pieces.

Bah. The strategy is now to glue all the pieces to something else (e.g. a sheet), and staple that to the wall. But the boy is going to leave that for another time.

So after confirming where it will eventually go, we put up all the other wall stuff on the other walls, and the big flower mobile is now hanging from the ceiling - so at least it's nearly all done.

It's now only two weeks before my due date, so potentially there'll still be handyman noises going on when I've got a baby to feed/change/settle.

Only two weeks (or possibly less) to go. I'm pretty fed up with the physical discomfort of being this pregnant, but at the same time utterly terrified of the anticipated child birth process. I don't know whether I want this period of time to speed up, slow down or what.

The poignancy of watching Buffy backwards

I haven't been completely lazy today - I've written a post on the above subject. If you want to read it, it's right here.

Otherwise, all I've managed is a few chapters of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, a couple of Buffy episodes and a short walk (it was sunny today - at last). The walk wasn't much fun, either. First my lower back started hurting a couple of minutes after I left the house, then I was hit by pelvic pains which have lasted all afternoon. Despite all my reservations about childbirth and the start of sleepless nights, I'm really looking forward to having a workable body again.

The boy has decided to go out for drinks with the boys tonight. I don't have a problem with it, since he doesn't do it often and anyway, he won't be allowed to much after the baby is born. (That's right - I won't allow him). I'm pretty sure he'll be sensible about his drinking this time, since he's only just recovered from his virus. I just hope he doesn't smell like lighter fluid by the time he gets back, because it really puts me off my sleep.

Paper clip sells for $173

It's true, and it happened here in NZ. An Auckland teenager put a red paperclip up for sale on Trade Me, and it attracted tons of interest - resulting in a winning bid of $173.

I'm glad that the money was donated to the SPCA.

A meme

The Skirt has tagged me for this one, and just as well too - because my day has been utterly uneventful and I would otherwise have nothing to blog about.

10 years ago
I’d been back from my two-year OE for about six months, and somehow managed to end up working in the same place I’d left to go overseas in the first place. I was thoroughly missing being a traveller, and the friends I’d hung out with in Edinburgh. It took a while, but I adjusted to life back in NZ, re-attaching myself to my old friends and drinking buddies. Around this time, I also found out that I was allergic to a whole bunch of substances, which belatedly explained all my hay fever /eczema /asthma problems of the past 20-odd years.

5 years ago
Job dissatisfaction was at an all-time high. I bought What colour is your parachute? and tried to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t know how to do anything except program computers, but I knew that deep down inside I was no geek. Plans to renovate the house would have kept me going at my job for a while, but the expected cost of the project put a stop to that. In the end my plan was this – pay off the mortgage, become a full-time student and learn to paint.

1 year ago
I was about one year into my job in a public library, having decided to become a librarian, and a few months into my MLIS. The commuting (up to an hour each way) was driving me crazy, the car stereo was crying out to be put down and my enthusiasm for ‘helping people’ was dampened somewhat by the realization that not everyone is going to thank you for being helpful. This was also the time that the boy and I decided to try for a baby.

Yesterday
Too pregnant to do housework, too lazy to do a painting of Piglet for the nursery, I spent all day reading and watching TV. Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell is quite an interesting story, but I think the author is taking too long to tell it.

Today
Pretty much the same as yesterday. It’s been raining and blowing most of the day, so my plan to go for an easy waddle around the shops fell through.

Tomorrow
Apart from waiting for a man from a security firm to come over and do a maintenance check on our alarm system, I’m expecting more reading and TV watching.

5 snacks I enjoy
date scones
Potato chips
Custard squares
Apples
Pop Tarts (if I can get ‘em)

5 bands/ singers that I know the lyrics of MOST of their songs
I don’t know the lyrics of ANY band's or singer's repertoire. But I do know most of the words to Hotel California.

Some of my favourite bands/singers are:
The Chills
Straightjacket Fits
Stellar*
The Chemical Brothers
Massive Attack

Things I would do with $100,000,000
I’d invest it and spend the interest on guilt-free shopping – magazines, clothes, kiddie stuff. Or else I’d buy the boy a plasma TV screen, myself a snazzy new car and put the rest in an education fund for our child.

5 locations I'd like to run away to
anywhere in Italy
the Greek Islands
Portugal
the Caribbean
New York

5 bad habits I have
worrying
If I think I’m about to fart and I’m in close proximity to the boy, I don’t move away – I just let it out and hope he doesn’t notice. He always does.
eating when I’m bored
succumbing to guilt
assuming that I’m right

5 things I like doing
attending foreign-language film festivals
eating out with friends
reading good books
watching television
eating cake

5 things I would never wear
This is actually hard, because I’d try most things at least once…
stilettos
Anything with large patterns on it, especially florals
Piercings
Rubber – unless the boy really, really wanted me to try it
A corset

5 tv shows I like
Excepting shows which no longer air (e.g. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, Carnivale, Lost, Father Ted…there are so many…) -

Malcolm in the Middle
Veronica Mars
Desperate Housewives
Harry’s Practice (a kids’ show about pets – it’s so cute)
Scrubs

5 movies I like
Just about any movie with Johnny Depp, exept for The Man who Cried (very boring)
The Matrix (but neither of the sequels)
The Emperor and the Assassin
Zoolander
Memento


5 famous people I'd like to meet
This is assuming I wouldn’t be too shy to actually speak to them of course…
Albert Einstein
Joss Whedon
Peter Jackson
Cindy Sherman (art photographer extraordinaire)
Lionel Shriver (who wrote the disturbing We have to talk about Kevin)

5 biggest joys at the moment
Really, there’s just a couple…
The baby
The boy

5 favourite toys
I could only think of four…
The computer i.e. the blog
The digital camera
My painting gear
The DVD player

*** I haven't tagged anyone for this meme. Please help yourself. ***

Those three words

I read somewhere once that the three words a woman most wants to hear are not "I love you", but "You've lost weight".

The boy reckons that, apart from the wriggly beach ball that is my abdomen (which is apparently growing beautifully, according to the midwife), I've lost weight in my thighs, upper arms and face.

In the months leading up to my getting pregnant, I could tell that I was starting to stack on a bit of weight because my clothes were getting tighter. This, plus my age, had lead me to believe that my post-baby body shape wasn't going to be anything like Elle MacPherson's. I'd been psyching myself up to accept that it was highly unlikely my favourite pre-pregnancy clothes would be emerging from storage in the next twelve months.

But the boy's remark has left me feeling a little more optimistic, perhaps even ambitious, about my post-baby body possibilities. Okay, so the first few weeks aren't going to be particularly active. But later on I can see myself pushing Baby in a stroller up and down steep hills, using cans of baked beans on my biceps and maybe even following yoga exercises on DVD.

I have a chance of being one hot mama.

Insecurity

The boy didn't get around to finishing off the nursery over the weekend, but I suppose he had a really good excuse. I've been sleeping really badly lately, and my nocturnal thrashings about have been keeping my poor love awake too. On Sunday morning he got out of bed really early - it must've been about 6am - and I didn't see him again until I'd got out of bed myself. By that time it was nearly midday. The poor guy was fast asleep in the nursery, cocooned in his sleeping bag on the leather recliner.

But that wasn't all. Once he woke up he complained of having a headache so bad it nearly made him throw up.

Now, ever since I got knocked up I've been a little insecure about how good our life together has been. Maybe it's hormonal, maybe psychological, but the littlest things have been making me see the happy "thing" we have together as fragile, and anyway nothing can be expected to last forever right? When he's late home from work, I worry that something bad has happened on his homeward journey. When he complains of having an intensely nasty headache, what are the chances of it being a brain tumour?

I made him go to the doctor, and apparently he's been suffering from viral encephalitis. It sounds like some kind of lethal tropical disease doesn't it? But apparently there's been a bit of that going around. The doctor said it was on the wane already, and didn't prescribe anything more than a nice, strong painkiller.

So fortunately, life gets to stay good.

That book about the hell child

I'd temporarily stopped reading Lionel Shriver’s We have to talk about Kevin, because I was finding parts of it really disturbing i.e when the narrator, Eva, tells about her incredibly difficult time with her son during his infant and toddler years. Not only do mother and child not bond, but they seem to be active enemies right from the start, and the father doesn't help because he trivialises all her fears about Kevin's terrorism. I thought perhaps it mightn't be the best thing to read at this time of my life.

But in the end I just had to finish it because it was such a compelling story. Halfway through Ian McEwan's Atonement and several chapters into Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel, I decided I had to continue with the saga of the psychopath's mother.

It's easy to hate smirking Kevin and despise his father, but then Eva herself doesn't quite come across as a sympathetic character either. The story poses questions such as: is it possible to make your own child hate you without even trying; can you truly blame a teenager's murderous actions on bad parenting, or are some people just born bad; are there some people who, otherwise perfectly sane, intelligent and decent, should never have kids?

And quite apart from the fact that you know from the very beginning that Kevin will end up killing several of his schoolmates, Shriver still manages an unexpectedly tragic ending.

I finished it last night, I'm relieved to say. I was afraid it would give me bad dreams, but I think the Buffy-fest which followed (we watched most of the first half of Season 5) prevented that (I had Buffy-themed dreams instead).

Gifted

The Skirt has very kindly and generously knitted my child an ultra-cute hat and booties.

I'm quite touched that someone who has never even met me, has put the time and effort into creating such a nice gift. I was dying to see what they looked like, and this morning they arrived on my doorstep...

(The hat is modelled by my red panda stuffed toy.)
Thank you, The Skirt!

Which Johnny Depp character are you?

You Are Edward From "Edward Scissorhands." You are very shy and often misunderstood. Innocent, sweet, and artistic, you like to pass your days by daydreaming and expressing yourself through the arts. You are a truly unique individual. Unfortunately, you are quite lonely, and few people truly understand you.

Take The Johnny Depp Quiz!


(Actually, it's not true about the 'lonely' bit - not these days anyway).
Found at cubmommy.

Winnie the Pooh and Tigger

I finished off the Tigger painting this morning. Here it is...








And the Winnie the Pooh painting looks like this...





Winnie originated as a colouring-in outline drawing printed off the Internet, and Tigger was a colour cartoon which I printed off in black and white (also off the Internet). So I can't really claim an awful lot of creative input. It was fun to do though.

The nursery still looks really boring, because I'm waiting for the boy to rearrange the furniture and put up the paintings and other wall decorations. When it's done (and if by then I'm not in the middle of giving birth) I'll post up a picture of the room.

I really must learn to decrease my meal portions. Every time I make myself too full I end up feeling as though the baby wants to burst out of my abdomen like an Alien creature, and no matter how I adjust my posture I can't seem to make enough room in my body for it.

I could so get used to this

It was another 10am start and another day of reading by the kitchen window (the closest thing to a conservatory I have). I went out for a walk to the supermarket and bought some muesli bars for the big day (they tell you to stock up for those breastfeeding munchies), and ended up receiving a bunch of free sample disposable nappies. (I'm still sure we'll be using disposables, despite knowing there's a huge, growing mountain of used nappies out there somewhere. But that's a whole other post).

This was followed by more reading in the sun...I finished The Seven Daughters of Eve (it was very interesting, but I could've done without the mini Clan of the Cave Bear imitations) and started Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, lent to me by Make Tea Not War (I'm only a few pages in but it sounds like Harry Potter for grown ups).

A friend dropped by with presents for the baby - a teddy bear, some building blocks, a couple of cartoon stick-ons for the walls and some sort of large mobile made up of large, colourful flowers. It was really thoughtful of him, but I do wish sometimes that he didn't have that habit of grabbing a topic of conversation and talking it to death - much like how a cat hangs grimly onto a mouse it's caught, despite all efforts to wrench the darned thing out of it's mouth because you fear it's full of rat poison.

Anyway, as I was saying, it's been a great day for slacking.

Filling in time

It's truly wonderful knowing that I have about four weeks ahead of me, of no early wake-ups, no leaving the house if I don't want to and no doing anything else I don't want to.

Yesterday I got started on my second nursery painting, this time a portrait of Tigger. I also started reading The Seven Daughters of Eve, by Bryan Sykes. One of The Editter's offerings, it's actually quite a timely thing to read at the moment. It's all about Sykes' research into tracing the origins of seven genetic European 'types'. Supposedly, all Europeans can trace themselves back to one of seven women. Along the way, he adds weight to the hypothesis that the NZ Maori (and other Polynesian populations) can be traced back to the indigenous Taiwanese population.

Last night we watch House of Flying Daggers. I'd been looking forward to this movie, described by reviewers as some sort of visually stunning martial arts romance, but I wasn't expecting that it would be quite the melodrama that it turned out to be. I'd describe it as a gorgeous martial arts chick flick or Asian-style bodice-ripper (...and the long-haired hero is a badboy, even). It had a better story than Hero, but is a not up to the standard of other Zhang Yimou films e.g. Raise the Red Lantern.

Yep, it's been a fine few days so far.

A belly like a swiss ball-sized bowling ball

The Editter dropped by yesterday to loan me some books - none of which feature murdered children, babies from hell or frustrated artists who find themselves part of a living nightmare (as far as I can tell, anyway). She told me about someone she knows who is also pregnant, and is planning on working right up until about a week before her due date. I was horrified because, with four weeks to go, I'm already totally glad I'm now homebound. It's really uncomfortable at this stage.

After the physical exertions of yesterday's pregnancy aqua class, I was hoping to go out for a bit of a walk today. It's pretty cold today, so it meant wrapping up really well in polar fleece, windbreaker and beanie, but what actually made me return home a mere twenty minutes later was the sheer weight of my belly. It really felt like a swiss ball-sized bowling ball was in there somewhere, threatening to snap my pelvic ligaments. I'm reluctant to use the girdle now because, now that the baby's 'dropped', I don't want to squish the wee thing in tight elastic.

So it's just as well that I have plenty of reading material and DVDs, eh?

Splash!

I finally got around to trying out the pregnancy aquafitness class this morning. Despite my predictions that I would be spending every morning asleep in bed, I've woken up at 7.50am both mornings this weekend, so getting to the 10.30am class was a piece of cake.

It was quite fun, although it's been years now since I've voluntarily spent forty minutes trying to follow a perky aerobics instructor. We must've been quite a sight - twenty big-bellied women splashing about in the shallow end of the pool.

The class turned out to be hard work, harder than swimming twenty-odd lengths at my usual slow pace. The hardest part though, is always getting dressed afterwards - especially the socks.

I'd been hoping that this weekend, the boy would get around to moving the nursery furniture around and putting up the wall hangings. It seemed that he'd made a unilateral decision to work on his online gaming skills instead. But I can't really complain too loudly, because he did buy me some more Buffy DVDs (we now have almost the entire collection except for season six part two) and some more baby stuff (wool blankets and wool singlets).

London

I only found out this afternoon, about the terrorist bombings in London. It was such a shock I forgot to withhold the swear words, and wondered whether any of the boy's friends or relatives in London were affected. My next thought was, 'I wonder if it was a Parisian retaliation for not getting the 2012 Olympics?'.

Anyway, I was relieved when the boy told me his cousins were okay. And hopefully my brother's friends, whom I stayed with years ago, are okay too.

What crappy people terrorists are, to target innocent civilians.

A fond farewell

I'd been looking forward to this day all week - specifically, I'd been looking forward to 3pm this afternoon. My leaving afternoon tea was scheduled for this time, and I knew that no work would be done after (not by me, anyway). Just for the occasion, I contributed a dozen handmade chocolate truffles from Dorothy's Cake Shop.

An hour of eating, drinking, anecdote-telling and baby-chat was followed by a wee presentation, in which I was given some really nice presents: a big soft polar fleece blanket in baby blue (unfortunately polar fleece is discouraged for cot use, but Baby can still use it in the pram); a teeny tiny set of baby nail clippers; a baby backpack (for carrying the million things one needs when taking Baby out of the house); and a super-cute white wool cardigan, hand knitted by the office administrator.

I was pretty chuffed by the lovely stuff I got, considering I'd been working there less than six months and only part time at that. So of course I promised to send baby photos and visit, though my offer to leave Baby at the office while I galavant around town all day was firmly rejected.

Then I waddled out of work as fast as my enlarged, overhanging belly would let me. I have approximately four weeks of sleep-ins ahead of me and I intend to do some snoozing.

New Buffy discussion blog

Coolest. I've been invited to join a Buffy discussion blog. I'm not sure though, that I'm up to contributing anything more profound than simple assertions of whether the Buffy/Spike affair ever stood a chance of becoming a meaningful relationship.

But I bet Make Tea not War might have a word or essay to say.

Dropped

The first thing that the office administrator said to me this morning (after 'Hello, Violet'), was that I'd 'dropped'. The boy also said the same thing last night. Well, perhaps I have, but I honestly can't say I've noticed my belly being any lower than it was a week ago.

I must be becoming less and less observant with time, because I haven't been noticing the baby kicking much either. When I told the midwife, she looked very concerned and muttered something about getting me in for a scan. But in the few minutes it took for her to put goop on my belly and observe the baby's heartrate, she noticed about half a dozen kicks which I didn't. Oops. Oh contraire, I have a very active baby in my innards.

The fact that I've 'dropped' means I'm another step closer to the big day. I'm still waiting (though not impatiently) for my boobs to start leaking, my skin to start showing stretchmarks and for my ankles to start swelling with retained fluid. And that's before the breaking of the waters, the 'show', and the actual labour.

My work replacement started today, and in the middle of the first day of my three-day long handover, my manager decided to take our photos for the staff newsletter. That's when I realised how fat I look in black and white. Oh well, I have an excuse.

The last week of work

I'm finishing work this Friday, and I just can't wait. I enjoy my job and all (it pays better than the library job per hour, I don't have to deal with customers and I only have to be there 20 hrs per week), but it'll be so nice to have a few weeks in which I never have to get out of bed early.

My replacement should be starting tomorrow, so I'll be busy finishing off the stuff I started and handing over everything else to her - that's if she's allowed to work that is. Apparently she wasn't able to apply for her work visa until yesterday (she was an overseas student until recently), and who knows how long it'll take to actually get one?

Yesterday I did a little painting of Winnie the Pooh. I figured that, since the night light has a Winnie the Pooh theme, I may as well stick with it. Next week, I'll do a Tigger (photos will be posted at some stage, but since they'll just be copies of what I found on the Internet, there's no rush is there?).

I'm about a quarter of the way through Lionel Shriver's We need to talk about Kevin. It's possibly not a great choice of reading material for a first time mum-to-be, because it's about this woman who doesn't like her young son - and he doesn't like her. From birth onwards, Kevin is a hell child; he refuses her milk and literally cries all day until hubby comes home. Obviously this is a worst case scenario seemingly designed to frighten the bejesus out of any woman who is nervous of her untried maternal qualities, and not necessarily something which will happen to me or anyone else. But it did make me feel a little anxious.

Weekend roundup

For starters, the boy turned down an invite to watch the second Lions vs All Blacks match on Sky, at a friend's house. The official excuse was that he had work stuff to do, but between you and me - it was because he couldn't face sitting through another thrashing of the Lions by the All Blacks. So keen was he to distract himself from the possibility of another defeat, that he devoted the whole of Saturday evening to playing one of his online computer games (don't ask me which game it was - they're all the same to me; one in which mythical creatures with magic powers try to kill each other).

My brother, who has just bought a seven-seater people-carrier (I'm sure there's a name for this model of vehicle, but I don't know what it is and I don't care), offered to be my mother's tax driver on Sunday, leaving the boy and I free to go out for lunch and shop for more baby stuff. We lunched at one of those child-friendly cafes, which is probably not the best choice for a couple who're anticipating an end to child-free weekends for a long time to come. But the food is always nice, it's open on Sundays, and it's right opposite a big shop which sells both baby gear and alcohol - rather a bonus in the boy's book.

The results of our little shopping trip? We got one of those nappy disposers - a big white bin which magically wraps up used nappies and seals in the odour so that the parents don't have to race to the outside rubbish bin with each and every nappy change. I did read somewhere that they aren't quite as effective once baby starts eating solids (because the resulting poos are sufficiently smelly to overpower the bin magic), but he's been told by another dad that they're a lifesaver.

We also bought a big foam jigsaw puzzle which comes together to form a giant sea life play mat and a smaller fabric play-thing, both to stick on the nursery walls. These, along with the paintings I intend to do, should add a little warmth and cheer to the room.

The weekend's grand finale, after unsuccessfully trying to finish one huge Beef Wellington each for dinner, was watching the last of the Carnivale season one episodes and the beginning of the next.

Mmmm...ice cream...

I bet Hokey Pokey was never going to be a possibility...

You Are Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

You are kind, popular, and generous. You tend to be successful at anything you try. A social butterfly, you are great at entertaining a crowd. You are most compatible with strawberry ice cream.

What Flavor Ice Cream Are You?

Double Act

The opera was good - it would've been very enjoyable even, if my bum muscles hadn't started twitching after a mere five minutes into the show. There was only one break halfway, and during the second half this posterier discomfort was joined by twitchy leg muscles and the gasping for air which results from my lungs being squashed up by Baby.

Coincidentally, the woman sitting on my left was also pregnant - what're the chances of that, eh? She was fidgeting and trying to stay comfy too, although I'll stick my neck out right now and say that my fidgeting was probably greater than hers. I briefly imagined the boy and I popping out to the lobby for a quick bum massage, but dismissed the idea when that led to visions of being kicked out for lewdness in public.

So in hindsight, I should probably not have decided to go, even though I did manage to get through the entire evening without disrupting everyone around me...well, not too much I hope. Those seats were a little squeaky, and the effects of two women bobbing up and down in their seats can't have been entirely ignore-able.

The Big Test

The streets are awash with Brits in red sweatshirts, so you might mistakenly think the title of this post refers to the absolutely huge Lions vs All Blacks rugby test match which is scheduled for tomorrow night.

Nope.

Tonight is the night of the opera. I'll get to find out whether I made a wise choice in booking two seats to Don Giovanni knowing full well that I would be almost nine months pregnant by the date of the show. I'll find out whether approximately three hours of sitting (albeit with short intervals between acts) proves to be too much for my squashed up lungs, my soreness-prone bottom and the slight possibility of an early labour.

Actually, I'm much more worried about the lungs and the bum than I am about the prospect of my waters breaking in the middle of a solo - probably because I already have a sore bum from the two-hour meeting this afternoon at work, and my lungs feel squashed up quite regularly.

Wish me luck.

With girded loins...

My visit to the physiotherapist was quite productive, despite the fact that I was longer hurting the way I did when I initially made the appointment. I was loaned a wide elastic girdle to wear around my hips and pelvis when I'm expecting to go walk-about, and shown some useful ways to move without hurting myself.

Basically, whether I'm getting in and out of a car, turning over in bed, bending down to pick something off the floor or sitting in a chair, the two main things I have to do are:

1. 'hug my baby' and
2. keep my knees together

The 'hug my baby' thing is just a really cute phrase meaning, pull my abs in a little just above my pelvis.

The girdle really works too, as long as I only wear it when I'm upright. Sitting down with it on just exacerbates the feeling of breathlessness I often get when I'm sitting down anyway (ever feel like you're about to faint through lack of oxygen?).

Tonight was Antenatal Class Number Three -
We were shown videos on breastfeeding (it makes the act look even harder than the two-hundred page breastfeeding book does) and getting the baby to sleep.

There was a talk about Plunket services by a well-intentioned but monotoned woman, who also showed us how to bathe a baby doll.

We also watched a video on pain management, ranging from none whatsoever through to massage, acupuncture, pethidine and epidurals. The video included footage of a woman in real pain, which - though realistic - was not very pleasant.

At half time, I compared belly sizes with one woman and acidentally bumped bumps with another.

partial nude

I'm just trying out Blogger's new image upload feature. It's pretty cool really, and easier to use than Picasa. This here is a small portion of a nude I painted ages ago - the painting as a whole was pretty crap really, but I did like this little bit here.

Well, my appointment with the Women's Health physiotherapist is first thing tomorrow morning, and there's been no return of the debilitating arthritis-like pain I experienced before I made the appointment. In the past week I've been almost hoping for it to come back but, if anything, I feel a lot better physically than I have for a few weeks now. I can actually walk around the block with feeling the full implications of the term 'heavy with child'.

My mum's arm fracture is all healed up now - and just as well, because those 2-3 hour hospital appointments are a real drag. All she has to do now is lots and lots of physiotherapy; all I have to do is lots of nagging to make sure she does her exercises, and say 'no' persuasively whenever she tries to get me to be her taxi driver and rice sack carrier.

I think it might be nice to paint a couple of children-y pictures to hang on the nursery walls. It'll keep me busy in the few weeks after I finish work, and help cover the horrible salmon-coloured walls. The spare canvases are already on hand; I just need some inspiration regarding subject matter.

waiting

On this chilly but gorgeously sunny day, I'm waiting for the burly furniture delivery men to bring me the fab new recliner chair in chocolate leather, which the boy bought for me on Saturday. It's going in the nursery so that I can breastfeed in there, right next to the cot. I would've been content with something modest, like a simple upright chair with arm rests, but the boy wants me to have the option of sleeping in it if I'm really tired. Of course, the idea did dawn on me that perhaps this was a hint that he would rather I slept in the chair than disturb his sleep by getting in and out of bed all night - but he's denying it.

Also to be delivered is a bedside table, to be placed next to the boy's side of the bed. Until now, the side of the dresser has served as home for the alarm clock, the box of tissues, the books and the asthma inhaler. Getting the boy to leave his headphones and CDs there however, has been an impossible task. So buying the bedside table is really a concession to me, since he's promised he's going to actually use it to put all his junk on.

After the burly delivery men have been and gone (they said they'll be twenty minutes), I'll be waiting for the washing machine to finish with the laundry. For some reason, it's always too wet or too cold to do the laundry in the weekend, and I always end up doing it on Mondays when the boy isn't around to help me lug it up the steps to the washing line.

And the next task will be to take my mother out to the supermarket. She sets the almost-stationary pace, so it too is a kind of waiting.

Five weeks to go before all hell breaks loose.

An eye for an eye

Having just finished The Lovely Bones, I've come to realise just how important revenge is to me. Although I loved the book, I was very slightly disappointed with one aspect of the ending, and it's to do with the fact that I have a need for retribution.

Whenever I read in the papers about someone who's been really cruel (whether to another human being or to an animal - it doesn't matter), it always makes me wish for some truly horrible thing to happen to the perpetrator.

The one thing that saved Dogville for me, because it was so hard to watch such extreme meanness and cruelty, was the vengence wrought on the nasty, nasty people of that town.

None of this 'they know not what they do' shit, or relying on karma - I wanna see justice.

how lame

It's just typical isn't it? I finally get an appointment with the hospital's physiotherapist, to look at why I've been walking like I've been beaten about the hips and pelvis with a softball bat - and then it goes away.

Shouldn't complain, really - because then it'll probably come right back and there'll be no one to blame but me.

I'm having a day off today, and seem to be spending it looking anxiously out the window every five minutes, checking for rain. You see, all the cot sheets, blankets, socks, singlets, bibs, mittens, towels and wraps we bought last weekend for baby, have been washed and are hanging out on the line. The sky is alternating between sunny and rain-cloudy, and knowing my luck, it won't rain until everything is almost dry.

Antenatal class number two

Tonight's class was a heckuva lot more uncomfortable than last week's. For a start, the midwife showed us a birth video. Apparently this birth was a nice, easy one. All the same, there's something about watching a woman pant from the effort and pain of squirting out a real, live baby, all the labour of it showing on her face, that made me want to reconsider the possibility of asking for a caesarian. It was full-on; I didn't really want to see her anus all stretched out from the pushing, even though that was the only way I was going to see the baby pop out of her other oriface (she was on all fours).

No matter how civilised we humans are, childbirth brings us right back to our most primal, animalistic state.

The other reason why the class was so uncomfortable is that there weren't any get-up-and-talk sessions like there were last time. Two hours is a really long time to stay seated - for me right now, anyway. We talked about the different stages of labour, SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome), infant resucitation, and why we shouldn't put the baby on synthetic bedding. Interesting as it was, I had a really hard time keeping still. First my bum started getting sore, then my legs started getting restless. I'd cross and uncross my legs, sit on one bum cheek then the other, sit up straight then slouch. It really distracted me from the discussion.

Every couple received a bag of freebies from Johnson and Johnson. Among the baby soaps, moisturisers and nursing pads was a small sachet of KY lubricant. Hmmm...

Books to read when I can't walk much no more

Amidst the frenzy of shopping for baby, the boy wanted to be sure that I'd have plenty of books to read during the last four weeks before the baby's expected arrival. So we went into Whitcoulls and he told me to just pick out whatever takes my fancy - what an offer. I managed to restrain myself enough to just get four:

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold (not a good choice for bedtime reading because it's really hard to put down and you'll end up getting no sleep at all)

We need to talk about Kevin by Lionel Shriver (it had a great write-up in the weekend paper and seems to be about woman coming to grips with the fact that her son has grown up to be teen mass murderer)

and two books by Chuck Palahniuk, who wrote Fight Club:

Diary (a 'coma' diary kept by a woman as her husband lies vege-like in hospital) and
Survivor (a story about the only member of a cult to survive a plane crash)

I'll also be spending time watching Buffy, Angel and X-Files DVDs, so I reckon that'll be enough to distract me from the extreme nesting behaviour I've been warned to expect.

big buy-up

The nursery shopping is nearly all done, and boy did it cost. We spent nearly a grand, and that didn't even include a car seat or buggy (because we're renting those for the first few months)! We've got a travel cot, a bouncy hammock, blankets, cot sheets, monitor, winnie-the-pooh night light, hooded baby towels, singlets, bath seat and cloth nappies. I just about had a heart attack when I saw on the receipt that the nappies alone cost fifty bucks.

I've just noticed, now that my computer has been moved to the study and opposite a set of mirror tiles, that - when I sit down I look just like Mr Creosote.

just about crippled

I don't know why exactly, but the ache in my groin which finally made me swap walking home from work for busing, has gotten much worse. A couple of times over the weekend I could hardly walk because it hurt so much.

Yesterday I decided it was time to stop accompanying my mother on her slow stroll around the supermarket, because of the effect on my lower back. She was happy to wander about on her own, once I'd driven her there, and find me waiting outside for her on the bench.

Unfortunately, the bench is one of those hard, metal ones - and it's on a slope, so I must've unconsciously been using my bum muscles to avoid sliding down the bench. Anyway, it was soon after this that it started to hurt like it had never hurt before.

So at tomorrow's appointment with the midwife, I'm going to ask for some physiotherapy.

The lure of the free

Cadbury's must be doing a big promotion with the city buses. When I got on the bus this afternoon to go home, a man in a purple jacket (imagine a taller and much more wholesome Prince) handed me a Cadbury's chocolate bar and announced that the bus ride was free. Only after I sat down did I notice the sign on the bus window announcing free bus rides, and a box at the front brimful of chocolate bars.

The prospect of getting something for free, or at discount, really brings out my Cantonese upbringing. I've even accepted freebies which I have absolutely no use for, just because it was free - such as an insulated coffee mug with a church logo on it.

A few years ago, I was holidaying in Australia and lunching with a tour group. The tour leader had ordered an enormous plate of pizza bread and invited everyone to help themselves. Because I already had a huge hamburger on my plate, I wasn't interested - but then he said they were on the house.

And then...purely by reflex, my hand automatically reached out and took one. (The tour guy gave me shit about that, I can tell you.)

Antenatal class number one

What luck - our antenatal classe are held literally five minutes away. If I wasn't such a lumbering beast at the moment I would have insisted on walking there, because it's just down the hill, across the street and into a side street.

The first class was pretty full once all the latecomers turned up, and they were from all over the area (including two preggies who live just around the corner). It was kinda sociable - the midwife who led the class got the preggies to get up and mingle several times over the course of the two hours, and the hubbies/partners/support people had to do the same.

Despite all that book-learning I've been doing, I still managed to learn stuff which I didn't know already from reading about it. The biggest surprise was that, once labour starts, we aren't supposed to yell and scream for the ambulance to take us to the hospital right away - we're supposed just hang out and wait maybe several hours, until the contractions are closer together and we're dilated to a certain degree. And guess what - we're only expected to be at the hospital for a few hours, unless there are complications. Which means that the long list of items I've been told (by the books and magazines) to pack for the hospital is almost completely useless. I was packing several pairs of undies and socks, shirts etc - when really all I need is myself and what I'm wearing, plus something for the baby to wear home.

Apparently I'm going to have to learn lots of birth positions, because on the day no-one's going to tell me how to give birth. It's not at all what I was expecting.

Ex-squeeze me

Thankfully, I have managed to always get a seat on the bus. It's hard enough to keep one's balance on a moving vehicle at the best of times, but I'm not keen on trying it when I've got a sticky-outy belly which needs protection.

But I think I want to stop taking buses to work anyway. Now that the weather's gotten really wintery, the buses are fuller. Even if I can get a seat, there's still a bit of a struggle to get off the bus without squishing my tummy against the standing passengers - even when they've positioned themselves as far from my body as possible.

Getting to the bus stop is harder work these days too, what with the sudden pressure on the bladder that strikes me when I'm just about to cross the street or whatever, and the fact that I can't button my coat (apart from the top two buttons) so that it flaps around in the southerly.

We've got our first antenatal class tonight.

Birthday Boy

It's the boy's birthday today, and he's started the day feeling old - which is a bit rich considering he's about five years younger than me. I've already asked him what he wanted for his birthday, and the only two suggestions he could come up with were:

1. to be ten years younger, or
2. an absolutely enormous plasma television

Well, number one is definitely out of the question because then I'd be old enough to be his mother, and that would just be icky.

Number two is also not going to happen, because those things cost an insane amount of money and I'm just too practical a person to willingly part with that kind of money for anything less than a fabulous holiday for two in Europe.

So in the end, he told me not to get him anything.

But I did. It's a secret, mind, so don't go telling him - at least, wait 24 hours when he'll have already come home from work and seen it.

Do you want to know what I got him?

I got him a framed print of this portrait. I hope he likes it.

Just as an aside, I'm glad Michael Jackson has been cleared of child molestation charges. He's weird, but I don't think he's a perverted sicko.

Cosy

Over the weekend the boy got all constructive and moved most of the stuff out of the nursery-to-be and into his study. My computer desk is now just along from his, which means that we get to do simultaneous geeky stuff in the same room - it's so cute.

All that's left to do in the nursery-to-be is to find a new home for the ladder and the glass cabinet, move the sewing machine into the study, and to take some shoeboxes full of stuff down to the Salvation Army store. Oh, and buy some baby furniture to put in there.

I bumped into an old ex-flatmate in the supermarket, who already has three children. After I told her about how heavy I've been feeling and how hard it is getting around at nearly 33 weeks, she confidently assured me that it only gets a whole lot harder in the next seven weeks.

On the other hand, I've had heaps of encouragement from mums who tell me that, as long as I stay physically active, childbirth will surely be no more painful and longlasting than a really enormous poo.

Minimalising

At long last, we got around to chucking out all the junk from the study and the nursery-to-be: the Seventies turntables which make handy bedside tables if you have the room; the boy's old computer parts and boxes; the clothes rack with the peeling plastic coating; the old school chair which has been in the house since before I first bought the place (about 16 years ago); the enormous sack of rags; and heaps more.

There was more than enough for two car loads. The funny thing was that when you take stuff to the rubbish tip you're charged by the weight - they weigh the car when you enter with the rubbish, and weigh it again when you leave without it - and my car apparently contained 0 kilograms of rubbish. I still got charged six bucks though.

It feels really good to throw so much stuff out. There's now probably enough space for all the baby's stuff, but also it feels more like a new start - out with the old, in with the new.

I went for a swim today. Isn't it ironic that I can swim six kilometres (albeit slowly and with a pause every 75-100 metres) without getting out of breath - but just while sitting in the car to go out to lunch, I can feel so breathless?

It's complementary

I ran into my mate Kazzer today. I hadn't seen her for at least a couple of months and I almost didn't recognise her because she's lost weight. In fact, she's probably lost about as much as I've gained - though obviously in slightly different places. There really is balance in the universe.

I lamented the fact that, unlike the other pregnant women whose blogs I've been reading, my increase in chest size has been mainly in the width across my back, with minimal increase in actual cup size. On the other hand, perhaps it's a good thing that I'm not a double-D; on my five-foot-nothing frame, surely such a projection would be laughable. I mean, can you take Dolly Parton seriously?

Once again I was struck by the fact that, when your friends read your blog on a regular basis, it's hard to think of something new to say when you actually bump into them in person.

I asked her about her poncho, made with love and worn with disappointment; she told me it doesn't drape as it should - that perhaps she's a tight crocheter (!).

Just before we made a lunch date for next week, I offered to let her touch my stomach ('cos, you know, people always want to). She declined on the grounds that she's English.

I'm really waddling these days - I know this, because I asked the boy and he didn't deny it. This means I'm duck-like in more ways than one (ever hear the euphemism, to have duck's disease? It means your bum is too close to the ground).

pictures that make your eyes water

At the weekend the boy and I went to have a look at the Bridget Riley exhibition. She specialises in what's known at Op Art i.e. paintings that make your eyes go all funny if you look at them for too long.

Some of them I liked, in that they were real optical illusions (kinda like Escher only not representational, and, in my opinion, not nearly as clever). Others just looked like candy-striped bed linen to me.

I'll tell you this though. In her youth (that would be the 1960's), she sure did look like a cool chick in her capris.

After about half an hour of looking at wavy lines that seemed to move in three dimensions, I was quite glad I didn't have to drive us home.

Sweets for the sweet

Hooray, I can eat cakes without guilt!

I was right about no news being good news, because today the midwife confirmed that I'm not going to get gestational diabetes. This would be cause for a celebrational muffin, custard square or super-sized ice cream, but she also told me it would be a good idea to lay off the sweeties anyway. So, while I will be allowing myself an occasional treat...like, maybe a couple of times a week, I can't actually indulge to the fullest, pregnancy cravings for sugar being insufficient excuse.

I told her about the really uncomfortable soreness in my pelvis whenever I'm not lying in bed, floating in a swimming pool or sitting on the couch - the soreness that slows me right down in my tracks and makes me think twice before walking too far away from the nearest toilet. She nodded her head as though to assure me that it's quite normal and there's nothing to do about it unless it gets unbearable - then it's a referal to a physiotherapist and a prescription for a tight belly belt. I thought I'd just try and hang on to see whether it gets any worse.

The boy came home with gifts from the Orient - that is, cheap DVDs from Indonesia. In addition to his own choice of Star Wars movies and movies-based-on-graphic-novels, were Meet the Parents, Meet the Fockers and Dodgeball (a veritable Ben Stiller festival).

And now, back to the bank statement shredding