Yeah, it was a false alarm.

Have decided that now is a good time to renew layout, but in the midst of this I’m experiencing some of the worst pain I’ve ever had since giving birth to Char.

I think The Worzel is trying to kill me.

Periodically, someone in the household dares to ask if I’m in labour. Yes. No. Maybe? I can’t feel contactions because all I can feel is intense lower back pain, with alarming twinges of sharp piercing agony that radiates through me whenever The Worzel wriggles. Maybe this is labour. Or maybe this child inside of me has grabbed a fistful of spinal nerve and is twisting it around and around her fingers…

Then again, perhaps I just need to do a good poo?

One thing that seems to be for sure, is that there’s no point timing anything because the pain is contant.
Well, we’ll find out one way or another, at some point through the night/weekend/rest of the month.

Yup, I’m still carting around this little Worzel inside me, and despite how much I’ve quacked on about hoping she’ll come a tad early, I’m now keeping my fingers crossed that she’ll hold off on arriving until after Monday.  I have plans to go to the pools on Monday.  The craving to submerge myself in water is stronger than my cravings for fruit and frozen ice.  Of course, knowing my luck this will now work as reverse psychology and I’ll find the only pool I’ll get to splash about in on Monday is a birthing one!

 Well, a pool’s a pool I guess.  Except one will also be accompanied by contractions.

Had a cool day at Cheltenham beach on Monday, but this heat has now sapped away my will to do much else except to sit around and play Monopoly with Char.  Now that the bedrooms are re-arranged and whatnot, I’ve burnt out like an old rock has-been and have now become rather sloth-like.  Which is probably why The Worzel is now lying in a wonderful posterior position which strikes pain into my lower back each time she moves.  It’s like she’s resting against a nerve.  Hmm.  Getting on my nerves already huh? *rolls eyes at pathetic wit*

 In other news - and I’m surprised I haven’t let this cat out of the bag already - we have a name for the sproggin!  After months of deliberating, we’ve collectively settled on a name which went straight to number one as soon as it made it’s debut on the charts. 

 Breaca.

 There’s a double meaning to this one.  Originally it was Brekka, which was J’s choice of a middle name (inspired by a speedway midget chassis).  Then he bought me the last of Manda Scott’s ‘Boudica’ series and the name Breaca fell out of the page.  Brekka.  Breaca.  Similar. Right?  And according to Manda Scott at least, Breaca is a derivative of Boudica, whose name is in turn a derivative of the war goddess Boudig which relates in turn to the great goddess Briga (Bridget).  Or something upon those lines.  Celtic.  Lovely.  And not entirely in relation to the framework of a car.

And now, because I’ve never been so keen to flaunt myself about as I am now that I have a big fat pregnant belly, here’s the latest Buddah Belly update at 38 weeks…

It’s 12am, hot and stuffy as hell and my feet are so swollen they feel like great puffy clubs. My feet are usually kinda long and bony, and my toes long and skinny. Now, even my ankle bones have well and truly disappeared and my toes are like chubs.

Meh. Pregnancy. I’m stalling on going to bed because I can’t stand the restlessness. As mentioned in the previous post, it’s been hard sleeping with all this baby inside of me, digging limbs into my lungs. Sitting up every few minutes to try and draw in that elusive deep breath, and thus disturbing Jarrod’s sleep. The poor lad wakes each time I move, asking if I’m alright. I’m looking forward to the time when I can answer that with “actually I think I’m in labour” so I can get this pregnancy dealio over and done with and have my body back already! Might still not be able to sleep, but at least I should be able to breathe!

Or maybe it’s the heat that’s making me wake gasping every time I drift off? Last night I managed to sleep because the weather was refreshingly cool, but I doubt I’ll be so lucky tonight.  *grumble grumble*

Anyhoo I figured I’d take this moment to post some of the pics Char took of my nephew and I on New Years Eve.  He’s going through an emo moment which his parents hate, but aw, it’s so cuuute…

There we go, nothing much, just an excuse to write up a post (two days in a row. Wow.) and say “look I still have my Bauhaus t-shirt!” which I might add, did a reasonable job of minimising the 36 week baby belly?

Now if only I could find something that could minimse my 37 week feet…

We’re a family who are fantastic for doing things at the last minute.  For months I’ve griped about getting The Worzel’s room ready, and yet until a week ago we’ve done nothing much about it.  Up until a week ago, the spare room remained filled with Jarrod’s speedway memorabilia and his lifetime’s supply of odds and ends.  I began having nightmares about trying to find a space to put the bassinet while in the midst of labour.

 Then the weekend before Christmas, a start was finally made (after I stressed to Jarrod “mum will come over on Christmas day and ask to see the baby’s room, and there won’t be one!”)  It looked as if I might be able to start shifting the baby gear our of our room at last! 

Following Christmas I had a sudden epiphany.  Why not move Char into what was to be The Worzel’s room, and shift The Worzel into her old room?  It makes for twice the last-minute workload, but what the hell - if a back must be broken and a disc slipped, why not do it good and proper?!

Jarrod was sceptical.  And for good reason.  Two thirds of Char’s room was still filled with toys she outgrown years ago.  Dig down deep enough into that wardrobe, and we’d probably find a well-preserved mammoth, half a dozen lost lunch boxes and the library book I was billed for two years back.

But being pig-headed and adamant that this was a fantastic idea, I hauled Char into her room and forced her to help me decide what she could give away, and pack up the rest for transferral down the hall.  

Two hours later, I sat head in hands, despairing over how I could ever be so stupid and ‘how the hell will we ever get to the bottom of it all?  I think it was the “I told you so” expression on Jarrod’s face that forced me to continue plodding on.  ( And perhaps the realisation of “if I could get through all that pricing in the containers at work each week, I can get through this!  Damn it!”)

 After a week of chipping through the many layers of our excavation site, a breakthrough was made.   By me.  Char had long deserted me in favour of hanging out with her cousin who had come to stay.  Eurika.  Everything was bagged, tagged, and ready for burial.  Eh, removal.

Now Char is in her new room, The Worzel’s bassinet is set up in her room, and I at last can stop with the re-occuring nightmare of going into labour without having a room to bring the little sproggin home to.  (Actually the bad dreams have stopped mainly because I can no longer SLEEP!  There’s so much baby in my belly I can barely breathe.  And thus each time I manage to drift off through the night, I wake gasping for air.  Urggh…) 

Now then, this pregnancy dealio is really un-fun.  I know there’s still three weeks until DD, but damn it, it’s time for this Worzel to GET THE HELL OUT OF ME ALREADY!  

PS: This was the last photo our camera will ever take, as it has now decided to f*@! out on us. Now, I’m once again uttering “okay little Worzel, you can’t come out yet. We’re not ready…”

I can’t go into labour without a camera!!

DAMN IT!

Wait, I didn’t mean to imply we’ll  be using the camera while I’m in labour.  No one wants to see that… I meant afterwards; when The Worzel is all pink and glowing and looking human and all.  Not all wet and slimey and half hanging out of my…

Yeah.  You get it already.  I’ll shut up now.