Week Twelve

Dear Button,

You are:

  • About two and a half inches long.
  • Pretty much in possession of every structure, organ and system that you’ll need for life at this point – although they definitely need to be further developed.

I am:

  • In possession of a big-ass uterus right now which as I understand it, is migrating upwards (all the better for my bladder I say, all the better for you to kick me you say).

Well this week it almost got to the point that I could set a watch by my stomach. Apparently I have to eat every hour and a half. Breakfast is at 8:30am and from that point forward, its Game On. If I haven’t eaten again by 10:05am, I am feeling it. Then I need to eat again before noon. And theres no way I’m making it to 5:30pm without two passes at afternoon tea. Especially when it takes over an hour to get home. Whenever I leave the refuel a little too long, my stomach starts to make those rumbling noises, my concentration slowly leaks out of my ears and that uneasy feeling grows like an insidious vine that is both pervasive and constricting until I start to feel ill. Joy.

I have to be careful how much I eat too. I made the mistake of eating a big lunch the other day and paid for it for the rest of the afternoon. So now I am making sure I don’t have too much at the same time as I satisfy the need. Which can be a tricky thing to negotiate at 10:30pm at night. Surely, the last thing I need before I go to bed is to eat carbs and sugar (which is about all that is available in snacking foods at our house) but then again, going to bed feeling like my stomach is in the middle of a panic attack is not my idea of fun. So I usually eat. I’m in training to become a barn.

Oh, I know that I’m supposed to eat more and that I’m also supposed to put on more weight than, well, you but I feel like I’m eating twice as much as I was before which doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t help though that the other side effect of feeling hungry is that I start to salivate. A lot. I can be at my desk or watching tv and I have to make sure my mouth is closed or I swear I’d be drooling like the puppy. Not a pretty look. I try not to think about food but I need to keep swallowing. If I happen to be lying down on the couch it is often more convenient to tip my head back. Its very sad. Pregnancy is so not glamorous. And its definitely not making me feel all mothery yet.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day (in Australia) and Sparky, bless his cotton socks, wanted to know what I wanted for mother’s day. For being a mother. And I don’t know if it’s the practical/pragmatic part of me that goes well I’m not actually a mother yet so therefore I don’t deserve anything, or indeed the penny pinching part that says I don’t want to spend money we don’t have on something I don’t need right now but I was pretty much against the idea. To me, mother’s day is still about my mum. Mother’s day to me is still about being a daughter. I don’t think I feel ready to identify myself as a mother yet. Don’t get me wrong, I am looking forward to it and I want it but I’m happy knowing that I’ve still got a number of months ahead of me to get used to it. Then if you ever forget mother’s day, boy will I be narked.

Alles Liebe,



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