Hello Mallorca, Hello Third Trimester

Well we've arrived: via much growing, a fair amount of enjoyment, not too much sleep, a backache or two and lots of talk of nurseries, Bump and I are on the home straight, and it feels great.
Time and pregnancy are two things that seem to work in harmonious tamden. Every week things change, time passes and you get a tiny step closer to Birth Day. Whilst last week I felt that the end was still some way off, now, suddenly, it feels much closer. From tomorrow, I can say, 'I'm due the month after next'. Now that's freaky. Especially as the baby's room remains empty. Two baby grows does not an organised Mother-to-be make. So when we get back from sunny Mallorca, The Shopping Attack begins. I can't say it'll be a chore.
Today my pregnancy App tells me that the baby is now 16 inches long and weighs in at a whopping 2.5lbs. Ok, it isn't that whopping, but you try stuffing a large turkey up your front and see how it impacts on your daily routines. The What To Expect application also told me that the little Pullen's Bear's lungs are also matured enough that will some serious medical intervention, it now has a great chance of survival outside of the womb.
Not that I want to see the baby now. Of course, I can't wait to stare into it's eyes and kiss it's tiny cheeks, but I'm happy to wait a bit, as I don't think I could handle the worry of a very early baby.
We had a brief dalliance with that fear on day one of holiday. The story, it's a long one involving a damp sunlounger, a panicked me, lots of pacing, and the wrong assumption that my waters were breaking, sounds amusing now, but it was a horrible half an hour. Was the baby going to be born NOW? What here, in MALLORCA? It was only when DH went to lie on the same deceptive lounger and it looked as if his waters were breaking too, that I breathed a sigh of relief.
I think I will be able to deal with the onslaught of labour when it arrives sometime in November, but not now. Not on holiday. Not when my lovely midwife is a 1000 miles away.

So after everything I said about John Lewis...

... and not wanting to become a total JL Mum, this evening, after work, we have our Nursery Advisory meeting. I'm only going to learn how to put up and fold down the buggy. Seriously, I'm not being taken for a ride and shown every product known to (modern) babies. I just want a quick lesson in foot brakes, a once over on the cot bed, and maybe a sniff or two around the breast pads - then I'm outta there.
I already have the most conclusive Mummy-to-be list from Dear Friend Amy, and frankly, I trust her over a young, graduate-trainee doing his one month stint in the nursery department.
It sounds like I'm anti-John Lewis, doens't it? I'm not at all, I just can't imagine what they want to talk to me about for two hours. It sounds like a baby endurance test, and frankly I'm too tired. What I'm not too tired for, however, is our final sunny holiday tomorrow!
Yes, people, there's the possibility of another bikini shot in the next week or so, as we're heading to steamy Mallorca and I can't wait. For one, it'll mean a week without a what-to-wear-to-the-office conversation (with myself). I'm also looking forward to hurrying the time along a bit. I'm getting impatient. And nothing makes time fly like a week in the sun and lots of lovely food.

Finding my third, pregnancy, eye

As with some of my other posts, when I've not wanted to completely embarrass myself, I've found a generic image to illustrate the point. My first pregnancy yoga class was not the time to get out the camera, so here is a woman who is far more accomplished than me. I also thought this image was pretty amusing.
So off I went, with the one of the other bumpettes (34 weeks) to a quiet lounge in Queens Park for some stretching, chatting and serious bump comparisons. Next to me was Lisa, who at 39 weeks was completely incapacitated by her expanded figure and who had to sit propped up against the wall for most of the two hour session. Despite her inability to get up unaided (so many uses for a small stool, it turns out) I was extremely impressed by her dedication. And I hope that when I get as enormous as Lisa (no offense, love) that I'm motivated enough to even leave my front door.
At the other end of the scale was a girl and her micro-14 week bump. Again, I was impressed by her dedication. Although, if I was going to be picky, perhaps the class may have been a bit low-impact, considering that she looked liked she'd eaten a large meal rather than that she was carrying a small child. Anyway, it was a nice mixed group and we did some useful stretching, chatted about our different issues, lay on the floor with the lights out listening to Madame Yogi tell us about how important we are to our babies (I think a tear welled up in my eye, although it could have been the dusty carpet), and then she made herbal teas, brought out chocolate Bourbon biscuits and told us not to have the Third Stage placenta-removing injection. It was an interesting, if somewhat incongruous combination of refreshments and information. But one that left me feeling virtuous and a little bit more knowledgeable.
The Yogi in question, if anyone fancies a visit, is called Julie Krausz. I really liked her, except when she just dropped into the conversation: 'I assume that all of you will be breastfeeding for a at least a year.' At which point, I'm sure one of my breasts let out a very tiny yelp.

A little angel...

Ok, I wholly understand that this blog is not a platform for showing off. I am not a showing off type of person (unless you count how I boast when I beat DH at Backgammon and Scrabble). So do not think me crude, but I just had to share this divine baby grow that I received in the post yesterday from another lovely PR friend. Wow, I love my job.
It's by Marie Chantal, a rather upmarket childrenswear brand, that I actually turned to (in the sale) for my flower girl dreses last May. Anyway, the box arrived and out of it came the sweetest, most hilarious angel sleep suit I've ever seen - granted, I've never seen another one, but if I had, it wouldn't be as soft and cuddly as this one.
It is so cute, I actually want to cry. Ok, that's a slight overstatement. I don't really want to shed any tears. But I did let out a squeal when I saw the wings. Even if the Pullen Bear is a boy, it's going to be wearing this a lot. I hold my hands up now, and will take the blame, in 18 years time, when he realises that I dressed him up like some kind of Christmas accessory. Babies are there to have fun with, I reckon. And if that means dress-up boxes and stupid wings, then I'm all for this motherhood malarky.

Clear the hospital hallways...

...this Orla Kiely beauty will be making its way to the maternity suite in about 14 weeks time. Friends say I'm organised but I just want to point out here, that this little darling was actually sent to me as a gift. Of course I haven't started thinking about what I'm going to take to the hospital with me on D Day. That doesn't mean that lovely other PR friends aren't worried on my behalf. 'Getting you all set for the arrival' was the attached note. My heart skipped a beat.
Actually, I'm now wondering whether to give this baby (not that baby), a trial run when we go to Mallorca on Saturday. Would it be rude to test the case before I take it to the hospital, or is it nicer to keep these things prisitine and perfect until their intended use arrives?
Either way, I'm going to be the chic-est Mum-to-be in the hospital. Not that this will mean anything when I get there. Considering that I'll be trying to push a small child from my loins. Presumably, any thoughts of pull-up handles and nifty wheels will be lost in a haze of laughing gas, and possibly epidural. Anyway, it's nice to know, while I'm sitting at my desk, mind and body still in one piece, that I'll have a nice bag in tow when I head off to St Mary's sometime later this year.
In some senses, the due date feels like it's fast approaching. The time is ticking by quickly now, 24, 25, now 26 weeks. But then, when I actually sit down and think about it, 14 weeks is a rather long time to wait. Blimey, being pregnant takes forever - and I'm starting to get impatient.

Feeling the burn

Mmm, so that's what that feeling was in my food pipe. There I was thinking it was hunger pangs. A kind of deep, unsated desire for (more) food, presenting itself as a pain in my chest. When actually, all along, the unpleasant pressure feeling was some rogue acid moving its way up behind my sternum. The joys of pregnancy.
Yesterday, the burn took on a whole new personality. I think it was the fruit smoothie what done it. You'd think that something as healthy and virtuous as fruit blended with, er, more fruit, couldn't do your body any harm at all. And yet, there I was two hours later, feeling the pain and not quite knowing what to do with myself. As with everything digestion related (I know, TMI), the effects lasted hours. So many hours in fact, that I was still awake with my burn at some ungodly hour this morning. It was me, the rain and the burn. Almost a party, of the most painful, damp sort.
So now I need to do something about it, becuase I'm not putting up with this any longer. I will ask my GP today. I'm going back to see her, because I need a series of important documents signed, all of which I forgot to ask her about last time around. She's in for a heartburn interrogation too.
Someone mentioned Rennies, or Gaviscon. My Grandpa used to swear by Rennies. His bathroom cabinet with overflowing with the little, square tablets. In my innocent mind, they were an old person's drug. Something you have when you draw your pension. I certainly wasn't expecting them to accompany me on my maternity leave.

Finally, a fabric...

I did it, success. After about twelve trips to the haberdashery department at Liberty (and a new friendship with the shop assistant), I did something a bit crazy and actually bought the fabric for the nursing chair. It was a rash, impulsive decision. And Darling Husband helped - despite being completely unaware of the printed, woven dilemmas that had preceded the final purchase.
As we walked along Marylebone High Street, on our way to buy a new floor lamp (Angelpoise, green shade, very nice), we stopped in at Cath Kidston. I thought I knew all of her prints, but as it turns out there was a lovely, unisex, apple design that paid tribute to my fruity heritage, would look rather fabulous on an old Victorian nursing chair and slotted nicely into all my other nursery ideas.
Fun, happy and 10% of the price of my original dream chair covering, it seemed like a no-brainer. So the helpful assistant cut 4 metres. We took it to the cash till. And, what do you know it, we have ourselves a fabric! Hoo-rah.
Not only that, but in the Conran shop we found the most lovely painted grey chest of drawers (not bought yet, but a definite), and so we are seriously moving ahead on this nursery. The drawers will look perfect, in a mix-matched way, against the clean white cot, so I'm feeling happy.
Somehow, we also managed to clear the baby's bedroom of boxes and after a mammoth trip to the charity shop, it's ready to be cleaned - and then the paint will go on!
Another baby development is that the elephant baby grow arrived in the post. It's so cute. It's so tiny. It's so cuddly. And one day, hopefully, there will be a gorgeous Pullen bear inside its soft, brushed cotton exterior. Yes, friends, we've been nesting and it feels lovely. DH even made me some chocolate covered Corn Flake snacks, so that I get my sugar hit in a homemade, (relatively) healthy way. What a fabulous weekend. Crunch, crunch.