Slightly concerned...

... about myself. We have a lot of depression in our family and I dealt with it personally about five years ago. I'm always on the look-out for the telltale signs and lately I've noticed some changes in myself that have set off the radar. I'm extraordinarily tired yet I've been having trouble sleeping. I've lost my appetite and lost interest in a lot of things I usually enjoy. I've been feeling a bit down and overwhelmed too, but there is an awful lot going on right now.

I'm hoping it's just the pregnancy and the heat and J being away lately. He's in New York now but will be back tomorrow. Regardless, I'm going to start my enforced depression-avoidance routine which includes eating fresh food, forcing myself to get out of the house and trying to move more every day. It makes me feel tired just thinking about it. If I had my way I would sit on the couch eating ice cream Snickers all day. It's enough to depress anyone and not much fun for Tobes.

I did speak to the midwife today but they generally seem to just put everything down to the pregnancy. 'Oh, that's normal.' But I know how I felt with Tobes and I know that this is different. I guess it's not surprising that I would be more tired this time around since I'm chasing after a three year old and not watching Ready, Steady, Cook all day.

The move is definitely getting on top of me. I've just got to reconcile myself to the fact that it's going to be done half-assed. There's no way and I can do the usual thing of organising and sorting and culling like I've done before other moves. We're going to end up taking a lot of rubbish with us. I hate that. My anal tendencies are definitely in revolt but something has got to give and I don't see that there's much flexibility in the pregnancy. I've reached that stage where it's all about the baby. She determines how I feel and what I do. At the moment it ain't great.

You Sexy Thing

I was getting ready for bed last night and had to remove my new belly support belt. This thing is a big piece of industrial strength white elastic with velcro closures. I was wearing it over my white cotton maternity granny panties. As I released my bulging stomach from the death grip of the belt and indulged in some belly scratching I noticed that J was watching me with a smirk on his face. 'Stop, you're driving me wild', he said while barely containing his laughter.

I had to laugh too. My appearance is pretty comical these days. I reminded J that when we met, lo those many years ago, I had such exotic items in my wardrobe as garter belts and seamed stockings. Now, we're down to granny panties and a truss. Sexy.

These underpants are remarkable. They end somewhere in the vicinity of my armpits and use enough fabric to make a sheet for a twin bed. If I was in a plane that was going down I could tie a knot in them and use them for a parachute. If I was stranded in the desert they would make a comfortably sized tent or, if I happened to be wearing my super-supportive spandex maternity undies, they could hold enough water to keep me hydrated for weeks. In fact, they should be standard military issue. Can you just see a big burly US Marine in a pair of maternity underpants.

So, after arranging the dozen or so pillows it takes to get comfortable these days and finally getting into bed at around 6.30pm, ie as soon as J walked in the door, I dozed off around 6.32. Woke up at 9.00 starving and in desperate need of peanut butter. J very kindly brought me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was actually exceedingly kind of him as he had to get dressed and do a father-to-be dash to the grocery store in order to buy the peanut butter in the first place.

So I sat in bed and ate my sandwich, drank a pint of milk and started timing my contractions. I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks but these were painful and regular enough to get my attention. Every fifteen minutes. Hmmmm. I read my book and timed the contractions for a couple of hours until J came to bed. By then I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open and decided that if the contractions really meant business they would wake me up. Thankfully, they didn't.

Oy vay, my aching back

Friday morning I was laying in bed thinking about going back to sleep. J's mum Brenda had come to help out while J's in Australia so I had the luxury of a lie in. Then I heard a thudding sound and Tobes started crying so Mommy Reflex made me jump out of bed instead of my usual roll-brace-raise maneuver, then bend over and scoop Tobes up. He was fine. He had just stumbled and dropped a toy car which had suddenly switched on and scared the bejesus out of him. I switched Toby over to my hip and walked across the room to get him a tissue. It was about then that something in my back finally gave up and went 'PING!' and Tobes and I both ended up in a heap on the bed. Uh oh.

Friday morning was spent bending forward and about 45 degrees to the right as I shuffled around, trying to pretend that everything was fine. By lunchtime I had decided that everything was not fine and by dinner I was talking to a doctor. I saw the emergency doctor on Saturday morning and went to see my GP today. It seems I've pulled a muscle in my back and, since I'm pregnant, I can only take pain killers and try alternative methods to improve the situation. I'm being sent to a physiotherapist, buying a support belt for the belly and taking a low dose of codeine for the pain. So much fun.

Needless to say, our fun weekend in Cambridge was cancelled. Brenda stayed as long as she could and finally had to leave on Sunday. Jenny came down Sunday and made sure we ate, took Tobes down to the duckpond and helped me bathe him before bed. J is coming home early so he'll be back tomorrow morning. Tobes and I were on our own today but it's been fine. I ordered a bunch of ready meals from the grocery store and we even managed a little walk around the village this morning. The house won't win any awards for tidiness (if I drop something it's very hard to pick it up so there's odd things all over the floor) and the dishes are piling up but we're surviving. I just feel sorry for J. He's going to arrive home after a 24 hour journey to find an irritable hunchback and a filthy house waiting for him.

Think I'm done with that class

Last night at yoga class the teacher caught me rolling my eyes when she told us to 'imagine your vagina opening like a flower'. It was one of those moments where I realised I had done it at the very same moment that I realised she was watching me. Not good. This was after pretending to sit on a toilet while we took turns massaging each others sacrums - translation: rubbing each other's bottoms. Later, we lay in the dark listening to Tibetan monks chant Christian saint's names as the instructor read out a 'beautiful' poem that contained lines such as 'bloody miracle mucous'. I actually had to get up and go to the loo. It was just too much.

As I drove home last night, reeking of chamomile tea and Hob Nobs and humming the Christian choir singing Buddhist mantras, I decided that I really need to find a different class. I love the yoga and can really feel the benefits but all this other airy-fairy stuff just isn't doing it for me. I'm all for being natural but, for me, part of that is being realistic. The instructor of this class bans the word 'pain' when discussing labour. She prefers words like 'power' and 'energy'. Fine. Giving birth is a very powerful experience and it takes a lot of energy but there's no getting around the fact that it hurts like hell too. I feel sorry for the first-time Moms who are going to go into labour expecting to 'channel the energy' and will most likely be shocked by the amount of pain they feel.

Anyone know any yoga instructors who don't mind words like 'pain', don't require you to touch stranger's body parts in class, don't think that epidurals are evil and offer a nice glass of white wine after class?

How sad am I

J got down the big box of Toby's baby clothes for me to sort through for Cupcake. We've had all of his first year clothes packed away and I wanted to sort through them and see what to keep for Toby's possible babies one day (he was given some beautiful hand-knitted cardigans), what to keep for Cupcake and what to give to charity.

I had mixed emotions about sorting through the box. I really want to get Cupcake's layette organised but I knew that I would get all emotional looking through Toby's tiny baby things. The first thing I wanted to find was Toby's very first outfit. A few days after we discovered I was pregnant with Tobes J and I went down to Baby Gap in Omote Sando (remember, we were still in Tokyo then) and bought a tiny white nightgown. The kind with the drawstring at the bottom and little mittens on the hands. We also bought the smallest undershirt they sold. Within an hour of being born these are the clothes that Toby wore. What with a very messy first poo and his habit of spitting up everything that he ate, he didn't wear them long, but they're very special.

I found them towards the bottom of the box and they're in perfect condition. I held the little gown up to Tobes to compare sizes. Amazing that he ever fit into anything so tiny. Needless to say, Cupcake willl be wearing the same outift within a few hours of her birth.

I had a quick look through the rest of the clothes and was pleased to see that there are a number of things that Cupcake can wear. Yellow and white outfits, little cotton nightgowns and sleepsuits, undershirts, etc. I was surprised when I found a piece of clothing that I didn't recognise. I thought everything that Toby touched would be burned into my brain. I don't think I could worship a child more.

And to illustrate that point... I found one tiny T-shirt that I had forgotten to wash before putting it in the box and it still had a big, dry splat of baby vomit on the front of it. Oh well, I guess a tired, first-time Mom is bound to do things like that. Was I disgusted? Did I immediately throw the little top away? No. I held it up to my nose and took a big whiff. Suddenly it was as if a newborn Toby was in my arms again and I burst into tears.

Cut the cord? Poor little guy, when the time comes he's going to have to take a chainsaw to it. Cupcake, sweetheart, you've been warned. Your Mommy is crazy.

Check-ups

This week I saw the consultant at the hospital (that's what they call specialists in England, in this case the obstetrician) and the community midwife. The consultant wanted to see me because of the pains I've been having but, again, it was concluded that it's just muscle cramps. He did ask me about my birth choice and I said that I was leaning towards an elective cesarean. He seemed to accept this and then gave me the blurb about 70% of VBACs (vaginal birth after cesarean) being successful though there is a 1 in 400 chance of my scar rupturing if I attempt labour (geez Louise).

On Wednesday I saw the midwife for a check-up and, after the usual exclamations about what a big baby I'm having, she said that I should try for a VBAC. That 'they' are trying to cut back on cesareans. 'They' is the National Health system. It's government funded and c-sections cost a lot more than normal deliveries so they want to try to reduce the numbers of them. There's also a very strong view in Britain that birth is a natural process that should involve as little medical intervention as possible. I definitely agree with that view. Up to a point.

My concern is that I never got past 6cm with Tobes and I was technically in labour for two days and on the highest dosage of syntocin that you can have. I was having contractions every 15 seconds for over an hour and still my cervix just wouldn't give it up. I had to have some cervical biopsies a few years ago in Japan and I wonder if the scar tissue is why I wouldn't dilate. I would much rather book a civilised cesarean than go through the pain and stress of labour only to end up with an emergency cesarean again.

The other thing is that everyone keeps going on and on about the size of my babies. I do find it a bit silly because Tobes was only 8lbs 10.5oz when he was born and I know people who've delivered 11lb babies. Tobes did have a big head though. It was in the 99th percentile for size and remains pretty big today. The thought of a ventouse or forceps delivery with an episiotomy in order to squeeze a big head out of my fanny fills me with absolute terror.

So I think I'm going to go with my first choice and book a cesarean but it looks like I'm going to be up against it with a few people. Ironic that my friend, George, had the opposite problem. She wanted a VBAC because she plans to have lots of babies and was told over and over again that she would probably end up with a cesarean. She didn't and was very happy. Hopefully I'll be just as happy with my c-section.