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Week 9 - Monday-Sunday Mon 22nd August – Sun 28th August 2005 Rain glorious rain!! I must be the only person in Britain happy to see the back of summer. I hate being hot and I love the cold. Thank goodness the bulk (excuse the pun) of my pregnancy will take place during the winter months. Summer’s all well and good but given the choice I would choose hot chocolate over iced tea, duvets and pyjamas over sleeping stark naked with the windows open, slippers over flip-flops, central heating over air conditioning, rain over sun. I am a winter person. There’s something about the turn of the seasons into autumn that makes me want to buy pencils and notebooks and new outfits…hmmm. We spent Sunday night at Clair’s for a roast dinner. Miriam would be proud – we had plenty of nutritionally valuable vegetables, even it was followed by a totally unvaluable chocolate tart. Hubby had trouble sleeping but I was out like a light, completely exhausted having not had my usual afternoon nap that I have become so accustomed to. I woke on Monday to the sound of rain. Bliss. I didn’t miss the bus, even though it was early, my train was empty and my tummy more or less held out until I got to work. Nausea set in mid-morning because I was hungry and didn’t have any snackettes to hand. Ginger biccies don’t seem to help, but constantly grazing does. Hubby and I have been discussing options such as names for the baby and whether or not we want to know the sex. We like Ewan, Finlay, Aiden and Leo for a boy. Ella, Maisie and Esme for a girl. My original ideas of Oliver or Sebastian for a boy were immediately poo-pooed by Hubby. Whereas I didn’t really go for his suggestions of the names of any of Norwich City’s centre mid-fielders. We have decided on the interim name of Junior whilst it is still a bunch of cells though (though actually, it being week 9, it's actually no longer just cells and is now a fetus)! I would like to know the sex of the baby. This is because I do not like to be kept in the dark, I hate being the last to know anything (and lets face it, from my angle of view in the delivery room the midwives, Hubby and anyone walking through will know before I do) and I like to ORGANISED. How do I know what colour to paint anything, what clothes to buy, what names to argue over if I do not know the sex? How am I supposed to make LISTS? But Hubby does not wish to know as it would like to keep the element of surprise. I cannot be trusted to know the sex and not blurt it out to Hubby so there’s no chance of me knowing and him not knowing. So we are going to have to wait under D-Day (Delivery Day). Tuesday was a bad day. To start with I couldn’t get out of bed, partly because I had been up four times in the night to wee, partly because every time I rolled over in my sleep I was woken by the pain in my swollen boobies and partly because I had woken up at 5am traumatized by a dream that Freddy Kruger had killed Hubby. When I did drag myself out of bed I managed to bump into everything in my path on the way to the bathroom – it would appear my centre of gravity has gone a little skew whiff. My reflection in the mirror showed two gargantuan spots in the centre of my forehead and my hair, perfectly cleaned and groomed the day before, was greasy and lank. Every day of pregnancy is full of charming little alterations like this. My bus never showed up, my tube was ten minutes late and I was late for work. I had to spend the afternoon traveling about for a meeting in Clapham and I was so knackered on the tube I nearly cried when a seat became available, only to have it snatched away by a suit with a newspaper and garlic breath. I finally arrived home to an empty flat (Hubby out on driving lesson) only to find the kitchen in the same mess as it was in the morning. I was so furious that I was just about the launch the heavy duty chopping board through the window when I spotted the note from Hubby saying Will sort kitchen out when I get back, have put the hot water on for your bath, love you xx It was at this point I got all weepy and emotional. Then I walked straight into the kitchen door on my way to get tissue. God help me. I floated through Wednesday and Thursday in a dreamlike forgetful state. I often found myself standing in the kitchen eating a custard cream with no recollection of opening the packet. On Friday I had to attend training on time management. It was boring but there were free biscuits and the trainer was quite funny, which was just about enough to keep me awake in the lull after lunch. I spent the evening at Bee’s house mucking about with pregnancy magazines, looking on Ebay and generally talking girly stuff. It was a welcome break from work, men and the flat (nosiy neighbours thumping about upstairs.) On Saturday we generally did nothing and I was feeling quite restless by the end of the day. I keep getting the odd panging pain in my lower abdomen, but they are light and never last more than a second or two, I think it may just be my uterus stretching and moving about in there. On Sunday we drove down to Kent to visit Bewl water. It was a gorgeous day, perfect blue skies and not a cloud in sight as we walked along the top of the dam and watched all the sailboats on the reservoir. We bought a couple of hotdogs then enjoyed the country drive back to my mum’s where we spent the night relaxing, eating and chatting. Hubby took the Week Nine photo for the Bump Watch in my mum’s back garden. I was shattered by 10.30pm and went straight to bed, though I slept badly, dreaming strange dreams where I won a trolley dash in Tesco but couldn’t decide whether to go to the right end of the store and get nappies, or the left end of the store and get wine. And so ends week 9. From tomorrow we’re into double figures…
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