This week the baby is the size of a ‘bunch of grapes’ according to pregnancy app. Which sounds very relative. I mean – how big is “a bunch”? Surely one man’s bunch is not another man’s bunch? If you get my gist. The grapes of wrath.
My appointment with midwife went well – she is such a lovely woman. In my last pregnancy I was instructed to always turn up with a little tube of pee. I have been the last two times with said tube of pee and not been asked for it. So I am now the worrying woman who wanders about with her own piss in a bag. For no reason. I won’t take it the next time…and you can guarantee that’s the moment she will ask for it!
My partner asked me “is there a reason….there’s a small cylinder of piss in your bag?” Yes, yes there is a reason love. Don’t worry about it.
I told my Midwife I thought I had SPD again –symphysis pubis dysfunction. I think…although i’m not sure. My symptoms are that I start off the day alright, and by lunch time I can barely move. It hurts – down there. Late at night I wake up to a throbbing sensation (oh do behave!) a bit like a cartoon thumb hit by a hammer – but the bones between my legs. Trust me – not the sort of sensation you’d read about in 50 Shades. It is also agonising to put one leg in my knicker hole (not a euphemism).
My horrendous heartburn / acid reflux is my main problem at the moment. This resulted in a long argument with a chemist yesterday. They gave the ranitidine (Just Zantac, but you can get a cheaper brand for a 6th of the price) to me in the end (that’s why you didn’t see the incident on local news). I’m sure they would prefer for me to get a prescription for it like I did in my last pregnancy when it was so bad I was coughing up blood. But what the nice lady probably doesn’t appreciate is by the time I get an appointment at the doctors where I live the kid will be smoking cigars.
“Well, it’s just that we have to be careful what we give to pregnant women“ she ended with.
“Well, I had a truck load of it when I was pregnant with him” I say, gesturing towards my two year old. “And he’s just fine!” I finish with a flurry!
We both look at the two year old, who is shoving a toy car so far down his throat he’s gagging.