Wow.
This is short. I've got better things to do at this time! full report coming up because the contrast between this and the last is so extraordinary it demands a review - that, despite the ract that the labour in itself was still... let's see - started proper at approx 10pm Friday night but had been having contractions (which I mistook for feeling unwell and Braxtons! twat) for a couple of hours before then.Mr Magoo here came out at 3 minutes past 4 Sunday. So that's what, well.... ha. 42 hours. Exactly the same as last time.
And yet, last time was a horror story. This time was an informed, confident and supported experience... and I gave birth without ventouse (although it was minutes away). I can't explain adequately what a difference that made. I felt James come out. I saw him and held him immediately. Wow.
Meanwhile, this is a note for Nora, which is quite important: Nora, my darling - you won't really remember James appearing, but let me tell you now that so far you have been fantastic. That's first. Second, I know that the description of your birth on this diary sounds like it was a really awful experience, but the thing is, sometimes you have to do bad things for really great things to happen. And you are a really, really great thing. I would definitely do it all again to have you here, so it couldn't have been that bad really, could it. It was just a bit of a shock at the time, is all.
And so much for wishing that the contractions started after at least a few hours sleep.
I was going to write a load but now I really can't be bothered, timing in between contractions etc, etc, etc.
See you later dudes. Comments etc can be left on the sister site....
Plus stupid errors keep coming up on my hand tinted import of the Feb/March posts so I' still struggling with them. Bah!
I'm gradually shifting everything over to a Typepad account, because comments have been up the creak for christ knows how long and I'm a bit out on a limb atm from the guys who run Baked for Haddock so I thought fuckit, just get it organised. Since No.2 doesn't seem to be making an appearance yet, *hopefully* I should get most of it done before the birth.
I discovered that a database crump in late January means my export only lasts until then, so atm, Moolies on Typepad only goes up to Jan. You'll also have to forgive the template. It's not exactly my first priority to organise that. Basically, I'm having to recreate an export unicode doc, copying and pasting everything from Feb / March (sigh), at which point they'll be running parallel (hopefully that'll be by end of play today).
So the point being chaps that COMMENTS WILL WORK! So if you have any outstanding, gratuitous commentary you wanted to put in on any entries before the end of Jan, please go ahead and do it. When sprog appears, there will be no Yoz alert system this time around, because I forgot to ask him plus he's in the valley rather than North London so you'll have to wait a couple of days until I come home but then you can you know.. leave comments!
I know, it's this kind of innovation that really makes the interweb what it is today.
And by the way, not posting for a couple of days? It does not mean I'm dead. It means that internet provision in NHS hospitals is not exactly what you'd call a goer.
After the birth I'll try and get Cronin to reroute the subdomain and then Bob's yer Nuncle. Everything a-ok except the crap template. That will have to change slowy over time, I would say. This ain't Dooce.
Contractions for an hour and a half last night. Went to bed in the hope of getting some sleep of sorts before it started really kicking in, and it all died down. Nothing happening today.
Have started taking paracetamols for the leg pain (god knows why I didn't before) and it does seem to make a small difference. Small. Still. Better than nothing.
It's due date today. This makes me even more convinced that our dates were right and theres were wrong - 2nd children are almost always early, right? Zactly.
The pains I've been getting in my "groin strain" type area are now beyond the point of excutiating when I lie down (ie: try to go to sleep). Consequently, last night, I'm not really sure if I got more than an hour or so of light sleep. If I put a pillow between my knees, my left knee starts with the jagging pains, but if I don't, as I discovered to my cost, any movement in the hip area not only results in the clicking and shlocking of the joints at their loosest but extraordinarily painful pulling, hot knives and feelings of...well, a bit like trying to lift things up when you've already torn all your muscles. Lying on the left hand side: slightly less chance of heartburn but more groin pain; lying on right hand side, puts pressure on the horrible varicose vein, and can only be tolerated for relatively short periods before the pain builds up too much as a background "ache" (as in, not like any ache I've ever known)...so then one drags oneself in to a sitting position, whilst observing the sensible "pushing up from the side" physio rules (ie: not pushing oneself straight up and lifting from the stomach) and goes through the unbelievable agony of movement from one side to the other.
...and so on. I suppose it must have been like this last time toward the end, but went on for longer. Sorry... I'm just grumping terribly*.
Given that I'm due for the marathon of huffing, puffing and agonies of a different nature at any point, this is not good.
I had a bit of a dispiriting day yesterday, and the shagged-ness etc is not helping today. I suppose it's only to be expected directly before the event - stuck is a limbo with an ever-increasing weight now beginning to buckle my back (I know how lucky I've been in avoiding that but that doesn't stop it being very immobilising now). I'm supposedly due tomorrow, and nearly two weeks ago, I thought I was going to be early. No such luck.
The thought that the NHS scans were wrong, and we were right (ie: beginning of April) hangs over me like a spectre now. Thank God McK's term ends on Friday so he'll be around to help if it takes longer.
Having said that though, the period when I knew nothing was going to happen has gone, and I'm now in much more of a flux, and can't really see much beyond the next 3 or 4 hours. This is probably adding to my feelings of isolation or whatever it is. I'd like to be driven to a park or cafe and have my best friends all present please for about two hours of talking drivel. Since half of them are in a different bloody country, this is slightly difficult.
Good lord, I really am in a bad mood. Please excuse me while I go and try and get some more sleep.
*When Nora's in a huff, I say, "Who are you, Grumpo of the Bailey?". Nora was reading a book t'other day with a bunch of half-drowned mice rescuing each other from a river, coughing, spluttering, holding on to each other - she said "Look at those grumpos!".
It could be a combo of back molars and generally feeling sligtly unnerved by things not being quite normal, but today, Nora has been crying and flopping on the floor and going in to hysterics at absolutely anything and everything.
Made worse by the guy at the fab Indian restaurant giving her a lollipop to suck on whilst we had our lunch (she didn't fancy much - glad I brought some cheese sticks with me so at least she munched on something worthwhile for a wee while).
However, all that sugar definitely went to her head a bit, and she was very, VERY upset going down for her afternoon sleep about twenty minutes ago. She's not asleep yet and sporadically, we can hear a small voice saying "Daddy, read a book". When she zonks, we'll have difficulty waking her up.
Taxi's here for my massage!
Well it was supposed to be for week 40, but since that would be on Thursday, and the ante natals with our local GP are only on Monday / tuesday, I thought screw it, half way through week 39'll do me.
I saw the African Doc whose name now does not elude me: Dr Emmanuel Nwabweze, a spot on African type of name, from Nigeria. I learned the 'Nigeria' part today since he had an international call in the middle of the appointment and had to leave the room to take it. On his return, he was telling whoever it was that he would call in half an hour. this particular family member had travelled in to town because the signal in the village was a bit too rough to get to the UK. "Parasites, all of them" he said with a wry smile. Well, I pointed out, you've fallen victim to the tradition haven't you - come over, make the money and give it all to the family back home. How many family are in Nigeria? "Oh only about 52"! The other African tradition! Suddenly, when you have money, your family triples in size. Heh.
So apparently my blood pressure is currently at my normal level ie: slightly lower than normal. What with that, and the haemaglobin levels, he reckons I'm healthier than most people, never mind the pregnancy bit. He has a brilliant way of slightly overstating things, so when I mentioned the 13.4 / 13.8 levels on the blood front he looked genuinely shocked and said "Really! That's amazing!". He's a nice bloke. Resorts to antibiotics a bit too quickly but you can allow for that and manoevre the conversation, I guess.
Which is great, but doesn't stop the sciatic nerve in the left leg, and the various vein nastiness in the right. When I lever myself up from the mattress in the middle of the night, as well as the agony and groaning, I can hear my pelvis click and groan as its loosened bones complain about the inconvenience of having to move.
So nothing doing tonight, but you never know - trying an old favourite tomorrow. We're going to the best local curry house, the Mirch Masala - an awesome canteen style, open kitchen, formica tables cafe that is always, *always* rammed to the doors - mostly with Asian families being raucous. The food is... oh blimey. The food is just delicious and the prices more than fair. Cheap, frankly.
So they do a lunchtime special and poor McK hasn't been there for nearly 2 years (I've ended up dragging my Dad there after visiting nora on a couple of occasions). We'll have to make Nora some nice cheese sandwiches or something because well... I mean, she's in her worst "Nooo" to everything period. She's hardly likely to actually eat anything in the whole restaurant with the exception of interesting crunchy popadoms.
Trouble is I've got so used to eating mild curries (total rejection of anything extreme at the point of morning sickness) that the "eat a hot curry" theory may be as naught.
Aaaaanyway. It's my job to make tea tonight, and it's quarter past 8 already. Very waffly entry anout bugger all, but then in that limbo state, not an awful lot is actually happening.
...nothing doing.
I think I said this yesterday. it feels very much like His Nobs got all ready to roll, then decided to just sit back and do nothing for a while.
Whereas I did feel I had a sense of what was going on, I now feel like i'm trying to sense a whole lot of nothing. I hesitate to make broad sweeping statements based on my "intuition" but it just doesn't feel like anything's doing.
I haven't said anything about the continuing horror of the fetid heart at the centre of "new labour" ie: the philosophy personified by Tony Blair, ultimately about to be sent crashing down by the same (popularity now at an all time low, how intriguing that it should be at the same time that Bush is is dire straits in the US, and how distressing that the similarities between the two leaders should be overshadowing their differences) . The inevitability of it doesn't make it any less depressing. How can any party seting out to court business not become embroiled in a sickening world of backslapping, lying, cheating, cronyism and a rejection of all the values that one would have joined the Labour Party in the first place to believe in. Actually, I wonder about that one with many of these professional politicians.
Meanwhile the Defence Secretary, John Reid stands in the middle of Iraq, ripping itself to pieces, and says "There is no civil war".
Sometimes you feel like personally apologising to anyone you ever promoted the Labour Party to in the past. I'm a socialist, ultimately (with various Green and Economics based qualifications). Yet that word seems to be as alien to modern politics as the word Communist. Socialism is not an anachronism. I agree with Peter Tatchell, who was on "Any questions" t'other day. There are millions of natural Labour voters out there in the UK, and they have all been steadily alienated by Blair's philosophies, and those of his acolytes. There is no longer a political party in this country that is the natural home to working people of a non-reactionary bent. Doesn't this alienation increase the possibility of a surge in the right wing?
And this is the same Labour govt who have made many, many small gains which have helped this country to become more liberal, more sympathetic, a more decent place for women to have children in...
It's extremely difficult to wrench oneself away from them entirely. But what can one do: look away, swallowing the rising bile, gagging and holding one's nose, somehow lying to oneself that there is still a fundamental decency in the Party. I fail to see any in the parliamentary party any more.
And I ricked my back somehow after a mass house clearing event on Thursday (I think the words "Mass house clearing event" may have had something to do with it).
So I'm not traipsing half way across london on public transport then walking for 20 minutes to get to Stephen & Becca's and their very new baby brother to Spike, "Buzz" (I kid you not, although his actual name is something sensible and "B" oriented - Bernard, or some such). Nora and McK have gone out leaving me to sit relatively still and go downstairs and make muffins.
I will have to goo to Croydon tomorrow but that mostly involves sitting in a bus, then hopefully sitting down on a chair for an hour and coming home again, whilst McK wanders around an organic food fair.
I overestimated my current physical capabilities somewhat, and have now got to the stage, er, well, a bit, that I was in at about 8 months with Nora. What worries the hell out of me is - what if our original date estimation was right, and in fact he's more due at the beginning of April than the end of March? How could the scans be that screwed up? Maybe, just maybe he was actually a hell of alot taller than he should have been at that age?
God can you bloody imagine another couple of weeks at this level - *plus* then they'd want to induce, and it would actually be early! Agh.
At least the house is clear.
Nothing doing.
Although he has been particularly active today (albeit whilst with his head stuck in my pelvic bones) to make up for two days of slightly edgy "Er... are you ok in there?" type noises.
Still clearing up like demons. did a whole load of good stuff today including seeing my friend zelda and her lovely ball of energy, Ella, who could teach Nora a thing or two about how to fall over and not be that bothered about it. She was bopping around all over the place, bumping in to everything going and tripping like it was a desirable attribute. I never worried about her apart from when she nearly got caught in some hoover flex. That was our fault. being in clear up mode makes a place slightly less childproof.
She's an absolutely lovely kid.
Meanwhile last night we celebrated the fact that dinner was ready at 7.45 by watching a DVD. "Requiem for a Dream" which you know, does live up to the portentiousness of the title but good god, it's well worth seeing, if only for the absolutely fantastic editing. Basically, it's a "don't do drugs, people... and you know, your mother's diet pills are drugs too, see?" type movie. But it's directed by that Darren Arononofsky guy (the one who did "Pi", which was similarly "Oh, I'm so bloody art house clever, me", except it was also really boring, whereas this isn't) so it has some lovely set piece camera work in but as U say, the editing, which is always an overlooked skill, is truly astoundingly good. The whole atmosphere of the movie is taut, tight and gripped by this disease of addiction - I'm not talking particularly about the zippy drug taking sequences, although they are clever - but the editing in, say, the Mother's total freak out, or the girl's descent in to prostitution (very clever direction actually - you think she's in a far more horrific position than she actually is... but then you do have the slow realisation that the situation she is in, is probably the beginning of something which will slowly get more and more horrific for her, unless she can kick the skank).
There's another excellent set piece after the gang that the two boys in the film are working for get shot up - the lad who isn't Jared Leto running down a back alley, with camera work as fast, as anxious and terrified, as worthy of the thought that these could be his last moments... what I enjoy about films like this is the point that, and I don't know why it did, but it reminded me of "28 Days Later" - the script in itself is you know... shrug.. fine. Nothing remarkable, different or amazing in it. It could have been a really boring TV movie, frankly - except for the prostitution bits. But the acting is all top notch, the direction is a bit too arch but when it works it's great and the editing keeps the whole thing tightly together.
So watch it if you can. Sorry if I gave too much away.
Went to see "Good night and good luck" this morning. it's easy to see why the media adore it so much, showing that TV journalism can really make a difference, and one must fight against the odds, even if it means losing your Aluminium sponsor, and so forth. It's also extremely self consciously "cool" - lady singing cool jazz songs, all the shots of Ed Murrow very "cool" while he's on air. It's a bit of a boys' film, to be honest.
Pretty darn good though. Makes you feel self righteous ;)
Nothing moving today. Well he is but still not too much. He's laying low before the storm.
...or a hell of a lot less...
Jeez, this kid is so low-slung now, it's like someone put a watermelon in a sock and flopped it down near my hips.
He spent a lot of time not moving today which as you would expect FREAKED ME OUT somewhat, then he proceeded to push on something excruciatingly sensitiveso ok. You're still there.
More practice contractions almost convinced me that things might be happening but went away after about half an hour.
You'll have to forgive these entries. They're somewhat one tracked.
Nora meanwhile met her old friend Alex in the playground and I spent the time yakking to his Dad, whilst the kids talked to each other, gave each other kisses and talked about "My friend Nora" and vice versa. I think that fate may be telling us something - I fully intend to set up a playdate for next Tuesday. Alex is a lovely kid. Very articulate and good natured. The two of them stood in total awe at a tractor slowly making its way across the common with a weird attachment with an undulating load of thick spikes poking a regular seriss of holes in the soil = presumably to improve draining / aerate everything in time for the growing season. God knows.
Also, I wanted to tell Owen just how much Nora loves "Mr Lunch". I mean we're talking, she adores Mr Lunch. We wre reading "Mr Lunch takes a plane ride" with her and then she found we also had "Free Lunch" and she thinks that's the best thing EVER. Mr Lunch for those that don't know, is the brainchild of J Otto Seibold and Vivian Walsh, who do funky retro flavoured Mac only illustrated books full of bizarre characters and which are genuinely sold in art shops since they're so well designed.
It's reminded me that as well as my original Mr Lunch t-shirt, I also have a CD Rom of "Bubblesoap", a truly bizarre but absolutely brilliant collection of madness including a thing that turns your keyboard in to a thing with different sounds and animations. Now Nora's really getting to know her way about the keyboard and how to spell Mummy / Daddy type derivatives, Bubblesoap is nearly within her age range.
Anyway. YAWN. I really have to go to bed. Idiot.
Depending on which scan you look at.
I really don't think he'll last that long. If I stay too long in 1 position (for example, the worst - sleep) when I get up I feel as if my hips are going to dislocate. Quite apart from the entirely overwhelming need to relieve my bladder from Him Indoors and his somewhat large bulk resting upon it.
But I tell you what though, apart from the hips and the various vein leg, which has been pretty constant throughout, I have had *nothing* of the extremo nightmares of last time. I can sleep lying down (gaviscon permitting); I've never had to take my rings off for swelling reasons; once actually on my feet, after the first few agonising steps, trolling along is really relatively ok even at this stage. a bit slower than i would like but not obscenely so. Not only that but whilst i've put on weight on my legs and the tops of my arms, there hasn't really been a hell of alot of difference elsewhere. I feel much better in myself.
I don't put all this down to the miraculous and stupidly obvious advice "hold your stomach in", but the effort of doing this, as the weight of Him Indoors and accompanying amniotic glop has become heavier, this must have had a pretty good effect. My back is in brilliant shape - ne're a sharp pain. Compare this to the disaster area of last time.
So I feel alot more ready for it, but obviously I would do, given that last time I didn't know my arse from my elbow.
Oh yes, went to see Syriana during the day today - such unknown luxury. I only used to go to the cinema during the day when I was unemployed! £3.50 at the Ritzy - popcorn purchased of course, and cinema one, with *no one in it*. They did the showing for me! The film is a good grower - it seems slightly underwhelming whilst it's actually on but I've been thinking about it alot since. I felt a bit cheated at a certain point where (no real spoilers, don't worry) "a thing" happens to Matt Damon's family of a personal nature, and so I spent quarter of an hour sobbing and then being reminded of it several times during the film. I felt like saying "Oi! I thought this was a political thriller, not a heart-rending family tale!". but t'is true, "George" as he's known these days is indeed most excellent in the film. it's as if he's allowed a whole area of his rational and highly intelligent self to almost be blanked - blanked to the consequences of his actions, blanked to an understanding of why he actually ends up doing these awful deeds - willingly culpable and willingly walking in to being totally screwed. Oh yes, it did suffer from being a little too "Middle east politics colour by numbers" (suicide bombing, a nice reformer, a stupid rich prince, lots of dodgy looking chaps with funny beards) but then they wrote it so it wouldn't just be art house audiences that would go see it so fair enough. really weird there were at least 2 actors I knew of who were "blacked up" or "Arab'd up". Surely to God there are enough Middle Eastern region / maybe west Asian actors who could have done those roles?
So next cinema day is Wednesday. Hurrah!
2.30 in the morning whatever I had been dreaming instead became a dream about how i had the most bitter taste possible in the back of my throat.
Waking up didn't make it go away.
Heartburn? No... this was a really *disgusting* taste, making me want to clear my throat but every time I cleared my throat it got worse. if i swallowed i felt sick but not overwhelmingly so. the effecton the bakc of the throat was somewhat similar (I imagine) to someone having snorted a load of gear, and being forced to put up with the acrid consequences.
Except this was not like any acrid I had ever experienced before. After a good dose of Gaviscon and just sitting rocking backward and forward gagging, it suddenly went.
Cut to 5am, when I'm woken by Mackay groaning loudly by the door and proceeding to crash over his books (and even worse, a large beaker of water, all over the bed) before sitting, whitefaced on the edge of the bed saying "Sick... I feel sick", sweat pouring down his face. *His* attack, of rising, horrible nausea, lasted for about 2 minutes before wiping him out completely and forcing him to take the day off.
What the hell is the evolutionary point in a virus that just "makes you feel a bit bad"?
Another one of those moments where pregno-immino systems roll up their sleeves and say "You think you're coming in 'ere? No f'kin way, chum". It's almost worth the lack of pension contributions for 6 months to have the immune system of an iron horse, for indeed, t'is true that the breastfeeding keeps the immune defenses super-high.
But for good reason. Clearing up the house ready for No.2 is, if you're me, with a pile of books and christ knows what, spilling out of the bedside table and a good 2 feet in to the rest of the room .. then there's all the magazines, catalogues and unopened mail... and detritus from work, and unwanted comics, and so on, and so on...
So I filled 3 rubbish bags yesterday and at least the same in recycling never mind trying to find space for all the unread books and gritting my teeth and acknowledging that all the graphic novels are going to have to go in to storage (you have NO FUCKING IDEA what that means) and confining myself to this funny and a bit too boringly usefull "bed panier" set that you slip under the mattress, giving you a flop down set of pockets on each side of the bed with room for 1 book, a pair of glasses and a couple of magazines!!! (breathe)...
What with that, then going to the health food shop and drudging back with two bags of crap and and and and I crashed at about 6.10 for 2 hours.
Today luckily it was invasion ofthe grandparents, so the only thing I needed to do was sit around, whilst Nutface had the best day of the week so far, laughing her head off and rolling around on the floor inviting us to tickle her ("No tickling!" she says... yeah, right). Fantastic day, just sorted out the last Ebaying of nicey nicey baby clothes that are just too girly (that'll teach us in future. It's khaki, brown, green and cream for you from now on, young lady. and no bloody dresses! Your relations can get you those as presents).
22.04. time for bed and sleeeeeeeeep.
More practice contractions but not too often today, but now even my "hold your stomach in" discipline is beginning to give way to really bloody painful tops of the legs, at the front, just above the pelvis ie: the muscles that are supposed to hold you up, No.2.
Not sure what I'll be able to do of my plan for cinema-cinema-cinema tomorrow (the Ritzy has showings from 1.30 am - the plan was: film, lunch in Brixton, another film, home) so what I *might* be able to do is see a film in the morning, come home and do my boeing to-do-list in the afternoon. If i manage to get through most of it then come Wednesday, I can probably dit in two films before picking Nora up from Nursery! (not to mention Thursday too. Yippee! Popcorn a go go!)
Nikon's useless built in wifi cameras nevertheless got me thinking that this is the point at which suddenly, digital cameras can become accessible to children. Think about it - those plastic knockabout Fisher Price cameras in bright colours? Think about one of those with a *hell* of alot of rubber or silicon to help against knocks; no monitor window; basic autofocus, and then all you have to do is have the computer on and click on a special button on the desktop: "Get your pics". No wires, no weird ports and things you have to clamp the camera in to to get it to work.
With some help and a big enough viewfinger, Nora could use a camera like that. Imagine learning at her age, and getting proficient in it by the age of 3 or 4. How rockin' would that be.
I've forgotten his name (Upate: McK remembered and had previously found the website - his name was Jacques Henri lartigue), but there were some absolutely glorious photos done by a french photographer whose well off family had given him a turn of the century camera to play with (ie: a box and plates job) when he was really quite young - and he was a natural, wonderful photographer. His photos of his family at play were extraordinary, capturing an increidible vivacity, and joy as well as simply being really technically good photos (this is when he was 7 or 8, don't forget).
I wish I could remember his bloody name. When he got older he started taking pictures of ladies promenading (well, he was an adolecent boy, after all) but instead of trying to make money from the thing he loved, he tried to be a painter,and spent years literally in attics, eating nothing but porridge whilst his gorgeous looking muse girlfriend / wife tried to look after him. His paintings were average at best.
He was discovered in the end when he went on a trip of a lifetime, sort of thing, with his elderly wife, and was sitting on a greyhound bus sorting through an old photo album. Someone on the bus saw his photos, jaw dropped and said "You have to go see a friend of mine" giving him a card (I'm remembering this vaguely, so I may be a bit dodgy with the facts). Next thing he had an exhibition in New York, and a lifetime of gorgeous photos came out of the woodwork. Amazing.
Anyway. So. Wifi cameras & kids. Oi, Kodak, sort it out!
Thought so.
An unwelcome reminder of more excrutiating things to come. Erk!
At the weekend, Nora and I successfully made pizzas. It was good fun. She then proceeded to steadfastly refuse to eat even the smallest chunk (regardless of the fact that she'd been eating all the bits separately downstairs in the kitchen) but nevertheless, it filled a morning nicely. The mozarella I used came in slices (like blankets, to lay over the peppers and tomatoes, y'see). This may have something to do with the zombie dream I had last night in which not only had I travelled to an unnamed European city, which seemed very nice, but was being gradually surrounded by things which were not the usual mindless killers, but only slighhtly lumbering versions of the people I was hanging around with (including, weirdly, Tom Binns). So it transpired that the only way to kill these things was to use a gun which used a square piece of processed cheese to either shoot them through the neck (not as fast a death) or the forehead - both obviously a horizontal kill strategy. I woke as I was fumblingly trying to reload from my skant cheese ammunition availability, whilst one of the said zombies was making it's way toward me, laughing, Would i overcome the fact that one piece had shredded, and the gun was becoming slightly too cheese schlidged to fire properly? We will never know, given that I woke up.
Better stock up on the old processed slices though. looks like a storm is coming.
The night before gthat I dreamed that I had died. Some people could see me, and some people couldn't. The non-seers gradually became more prevalent. I woke up suddenly as McK opened the bedroom door and I nearly said to him, in that weird way with dreams sometimes, "Can you see me?".
Must have been something to do with leaving work and being somewhat disappointed* by the general lack of interest in my going for 6 months.
(*Uhuh. Cough. Understatement.)
Notes on watching videos as background whilst working:
My God, the women really do look like whores. There's one video at present in which 3 unlikely looking herberts in crap tshirts are surrounded by anything up to 50 women who are either deeply tanned or are Caribbean, all wearing the skimpiest bikinis possible, girating, covered in glistening oils whilst the ugly blokes do this Jamaican style riff rapping over the top. It's so incongruous it looks perverse.
Eminem's new soul scouring single suffers from being executed within a very boring production genre. It's a shame because the guy's matured in to such an honest artist - here he is ripping himself apart about his failures as a father and husband when there must be millions of blokes who are far more useless than he is. Sort it out, boy! More angry political songs from you in future please.
The Streets new single! Well. he's beginning to sound a little too grown up to be using "street grammar" in the way he does. "When you wasn't famous" jars watching an obviously older, more confident, richer guy typing a "get me out of here, chauffeur" message in to his glammy mobile from a drug rehabilitation centre! Nice to see he still has the worst clothes sense I've seen since jarvis Cocker's quite unbearable taste in shoes. Some things don't change. But, regardless of the song's limitations, it retains his open honesty and chirpy, articulate demeanor. Most astonishingly, it was relatively decently produced! This is a singular step forward, given that the first two fantastic albums were nevertheless two of the worst produced records I've ever heard. The killer is that it's so catchy, once you've heard it, the chorus just can't help but be stuck in your head. Fair play. But then I'm a fan so my critical judgement is a bit lax in that dept.
Kanye west is overrated, but memorable and handsome, in a friendly, sideburnsy kind of way. Black Eye Peas are awful, and weirdly, the girl singer (whose management must be grooming her for solo singles / a career, a la Gwen Stefani) looks so much like a younger version of my friend Cherie it's a bit weird. Meanwhile, Gwen Stefani's stylists are obsessed with the fact that she has a washboard stomach in her mid-thirties.
Fed up with hearing identikit bands wearing tight black jeans and bad dark jackets being oh so fucking radical with their guitar playing. I mean bless them, but how many sub-Pulp-with-added-slight-gothic-punk bands can one person listen to?
Oh and Madonna with her flicky haircut looks uncannily like Camille Paglia (dressed in bizarre gymnastics/disco gear). That's about as freakily meta as anyone could want, innit.
Am I getting Braxtons?
I seem to be having very mild period pains. Started about half an hour ago. I swear to God, if I don't get 2 weeks of chillout time for this baby I'll be *very annoyed* with the Powers That Be.
Could be just my weird seating position, working from home on the sofa.
James' servers were down so I wrote a couple of things yesterday which are coming up next...
Xeni on Boing Boing posted this earlier today or this week, and it's just too important not to repost.
Here are the links:
US state tightens abortion laws. this describes how South Dakota "...makes it a crime for doctors to perform terminations... Exceptions will be made if a woman's life is at risk, but not in cases of rape or incest. "
American organisation "Planned parenthood" are shouting loudly about the ban here. Please get involved and support the fight any way you can.
I strongly support the pro-choice argument regarding abortion. Making abortion illegal is a sure way to basically murder women who might otherwise have gone on, and had a planned, wanted child in future. Women will go to back street abortionists. They will be killed or maimed for life. There is no justification for this, I'm sorry.
Having a legal abortion system must not have anything to do with your own personal feelings regarding whether a child is alive or "pre-life" in the womb. It must have something to do with the cold hard fact that women will die. This represents such an horrendous curtailment in human rights that it cannot possibly be allowed to happen. To kneejerk suggest "what about the foetus's rights?" ignores the point that many of these women will still attempt abortions, and therefore (using that argument) two lives become at risk or are terminated, instead of 1. That is unacceptable.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I've had an abortion before, and to suggest that it somehow is "alright" and doesn't cause you mental anguish in the future in my case is a crock. It's entirely subjective, obviously but if I could, I would go back and not not have the abortion, but drag my sorry ass out of the bed and make sure I had better protection. Having had 1 child and now about to have a happy, healthy other (cross fingers) there is nothing that could persuade me to have an abortion again. Nothing. But I will walk the streets and economically support the right of any woman to have the ability to make that choice, or not.
I hope that the internet age will thwart the stupid, blinkered idiocy of pro-lifers, and help women to find networks allowing them to find safe, legal abortions abroad (hello Canada) if this horrendous local law is extended. I would definitely help support any woman making that decision.
It's unbelievable to me that these steps backwards are happening. And this, in an age when some idiot women think somehow that feminism is dead and no longer needed. You look at the names of the decision makers in that news article and they're all men. Men who have decided that they have the right to decide whether a certain type (and class, lets face it) of women will have their life chances curtailed, and for some, that phrase will be more final.
I don't know what else to say. Fight.
Oh and tell every single person you know. Online and offline.
Having coped amazingly well with being thick and heavy chested for a whole month without succumbing to an actual infection, i think Nora's immunity reserves finally ran out and she now has her first ever ear infection.
Of course, it's in the ear which regularly gets gummed up with enormous amounts of brown gunk (like her Dad).
She was awake crying half the night poor love, and McK manfully went and sat with her, fed her painkillers and so on, thinking it was a combo of sore throat and teeth. It was in fact ears, thhroat and teeth, in that order.
Apart from the tell tale wee brown spots this morning on her pillow, there was also the key area where she pointed to to say where it hurt. It was at the jaw, but about 1/2 an inch behind it. To someone who doesn't have ear infections (McK, weirdly, given his allergy hell) he might think she mis-pointed and was actually pointing to her jaw. Since the horrendous flu of 1999/2000 when my inner ears swelled to the size of eggs, and my throat wasn't so much red raw as covered in a rainbow of gruesome colours, my ears have never been the same and I know well how the spot just behind the jaw can become swollen, gunged up and very, very painful.
So she's at the Docs atm with Daddy. It's the good doc, who we know very well - but she's also *extremely conservative*. I suggested to her the idea of swapping Noo on to Goats milk for a while to see if there was any change, and she dismissed that out of hand as ridiculous quackery. Me, I'm... well firstly, I drink Goats milk myself because it reduces congestion and heartburn *in me*. I'm not suggesting that Nora has terrible food allergies and getting all whiffly in a Clapham mother type of way, I'm simply saying well look, let's give it a try. If it makes no diff, it makes no diff but I am buggered if I am going to solely rely on medicine to help her out here, when she self evidently has congestion issues and there *are* dietry changes you can make to reduce lung congestion.
So bearing that in mind, yesterday she started having Goats milk (and as I suspected, couldn't tell the bloody difference). Difficulty being that she woke up with the ear infection, which means she'll be on more antibiotics, so it'll be extremely difficult to tell which variable has a greater effect. Bah. Very annoying.
Meanwhile, one of my major tasks in the next few days is to look up everything I can about paediatric asthma and allergies that centre around the ENT organs.
Sigh.
Anyway, at least she ate plenty of breakfast, and cheered up once she'd had her Calpol and it'd sunk in. So she's not *horrendously* ill.
Ears, chest, throat, bloody athma; bloody allergies; bloody wet grim English weather. We need to go live in Botswana.
I've got 4 days of this then I have 2 weeks "prep" time (approx) before No.2 arrives.
I seem to be facing a severe case of "nesting" which is something I didn't do at all last time. Everywhere I look I think "I've got to clear that up quickly". Not just clear it up, but wipe all available surfaces and you name it... Unfortunately I am actually working, as opposed to "Working from home" being a euphamism for slacking about.
So clearing is coming along but s-l-o-w-l-y.
However. Bought a few necessaries this morning - teeny person teats for 3 weeks on so McK can feed el presidente, Infacol and most importantly - a couple of cartons of ready made (the one with the probiotics in - Aptimil) so if No.2 starts crying before my milk comes in (which he will) then a teeny amount licked up from a sterilised cup will do nicely as a stopgap. Best piece of advice I ever thought of after the event, that one.
Also some "look, ok, we don't use these usually, so forgive us whilst we protect small person from too much household bacteria, eh?" anti-bacterial cleaner. Although this may help to accentuate my freakoid nesting tendencies.
The freakoid nesting tendencies are being accentuated by nora's coughing. The thought that every time she coughs she's breathing in the horror dust of a semi-cluttered house is making me want to remove all shelves, and all handleable objects which collect dust. Unfortunately these have a tendency to include books, and not alot else (ok, videos & dvd's as well). Her room of course is a soft furnishings mightmare, filled with soft toys, a sofa, curtains and christ knows what.
I am resolved to change, but am forcing my brain - which is classically doing that "see the whole picture in macro, and not deal with the micro" thing, to focus on one room at a time. One room at a time, woman!!!
One thing's for sure. The next flat we move in to will have to have wooden floors. either that or be in a very small car free town by the seaside, with a harcore allergy-type hoover.
I forgot to say. T'other day in an ante-natal appt the Midwife complimented me on my haemoglobin count, saying it was "13.8" and apparently it had been above 13 for the whole pregnancy period.
Er... 13 what? Well the safe limits are between 11 - 16.
11-16 what, exactly?
She wasn't really sure. Parts per something or other, and apparently most women are lucky if they get above 11.
So. A small amount of research later reveals that we're looking at whether anaemia is present. Here's the BUPA website:
"A simple blood test can measure the number of red cells and the amount of haemoglobin in the blood. The normal amount is at least 13g/dl (13 grams of haemoglobin per decilitre of blood) for men and 11g/dl for women. This test can determine if you are anaemic, but does not identify the cause of the anaemia."
Okeydokey. So I'm not anaemic. I'm *very* not anaemic. For a vegetarian, that's really not bad is it. In that joyous way the interweb has, instead of telling me how wonderfully healthy I am, "My Dr.com.au" tells me, "This measurement may also detect abnormally high concentrations of haemoglobin. This may occur in people with chronic lung disease, as an adaptation to high altitudes, or because of an abnormal increase in red cell production by the bone marrow (polycythaemia vera).".
Streatham's on a hill in South London. Maybe that's it.