It’s a perk of blogging that I get a platform to whinge. I’ve suddenly reached That Point in my pregnancy. That point of Feeling Fat and Frustrated. You swim along on a tide of hormones, feeling muzzy and happy, but then suddenly you reach the end of your tether.
I’m so enormous at the moment that I’m finding it very difficult to sleep properly. Even when I do sleep, I have to wake up every two hours at the least to go to the toilet. I can’t fit much food into my stomach. I keep bumping into things because my mental body image is still that of someone who can squeeze through those two chairs there. I can’t bend over or walk easily. In addition, I’ve had two false alarms this past week, one of which necessitated a trip into hospital…it’s called “spurious labour”. Either come out or don’t!
At four am this morning, I considered jumping up and down and screaming, and then realised sadly that (a) I can’t jump at the moment and (b) I’d wake up the rest of the household. Then I sat in my chair and grumpily contemplated picking an argument with someone, but decided that wasn’t fair on the recipient of the argument unless I warned them (and that takes all the fun out of it). And I’d probably regret it later.
It must be nature’s way of making women want to go through the labour process. Well, technically, I’ve only got three weeks to go, so the end is in sight. Wish me luck!