Yesterday I was feeling awful. My iron levels are low, but according to the doctor, not drastic. I spoke to her on the phone, and she said she could give me iron tablets, which pleased me; but now I’ve got them, I don’t want to use them. I’d rather try to eat a more iron-rich diet, it feels like a more positive approach. I have put the tablets in the kitchen as a reminder. Last night’s dinner was cold roast beef and spinach salad, and this morning’s breakfast was grape nuts and prunes. Oh yes, iron is fun. Poor Pete.
I should point out that it’s not all bad. I mean, I don’t intend to have any more pregnancies after this one, because physically, it just isn’t very much fun; but I’m not having a totally miserable time. Sometimes I feel like I do nothing but moan about the symptoms and side effects.
Despite having very little energy, I’m trying to do lots in these last few weeks. We are pretty booked up; we could go out every night this week, if I hadn’t vetoed tonight’s pub quiz. At the weekend, we have a party in Oxford on Friday night, an antenatal class on Saturday morning, possibly a bass-purchasing excursion to London in the afternoon, and on Sunday we’re driving to Bristol with a load of furniture for my brother. Normal, unpregnant Karen would not contemplate such a taxing weekend.
Everything is going to change soon, so I do feel inclined to stuff as much into my remaining time as possible. I don’t feel that our social life will die completely, but that it will all be different, and for a while it will be harder. I like the idea that we are going to pass such a huge milestone, though; it’s bigger than getting married or buying a house; it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever done.
I like the bits where women get all chatty in shops, and men offer me seats on the train (this latter does not happen particularly often). I like having back rubs and bump massages from Pete (he calls it our bump). I like feeling the baby move (apart from late at night when I want to sleep, but so it goes). I like the shopping and the knitting. I like the teeny tiny hats and jackets, and the all-prepared hospital bag. And frankly, I like moaning about indigestion and tiredness; it’s what pregnant women do.
Actually, I don’t call it our bump. I call it my bump.
Just to throw you a bit.
Whatever the doom merchant say there is a life after having babies. My memories are probably a bit rusty and as such probably suffer from rose tinted syndrome but from what I remember the first 4/5 months or so the restrictions are not half as bad as in late pregnancy… the baby gets heavy after a while but unlike the bump you can put him/her down for a rest, he/she is pretty much happy to be wherever you want to be and if you are feeding you can travel fairly light. It gets a bit trickier when they become mobile or a bit older and start thriving on routine (dreadful limiting stuff routine, took me an age to get used to it
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We went to a nice café when Tom was only a week old. Since then we have been to restaurants, countless shopping trips and are about to take a week in Ireland.
Daytime activities are usually easier than evening activities, but nothing is impossible, particularly if you can call on a reliable parent or sibling for sitting services.
I’d revel in the attention at the moment. Pretty soon there will be a very small person garnering it all!