Thursday, 30 July 2009
Last Saturday, my mum, sister and I went on what even Michael Fish levels of underestimation would call a shopping frenzy. The source of this mass female hysteria was of course Alfie, and this trip was designed as both a female bonding session, and an excuse for certain doting grandmothers-to-be to indulge in a little spot of single handed economy boosting.
I’ve never really been one for the female ritual of shopping, truth be known I have always struggled to see the appeal of turning what can easily be a quick “in and out” (or even better a 5 minute browse online) into a day of meandering debate. As with so many things on this journey of impending motherhood however, something strange seems to have come over me and I think I finally get it. Not in a general sense, or even insinuating that I’m going to want to spend every sale season elbowing my way to the best bargains, but there is a part of shopping, the part where you spend time with your nearest and dearest getting excited about a big life event on the horizon that suddenly seems like a really wonderful way to spend your time.
Anyway, if I tell you the location for our day out was Milton Keynes, I think even those of you who haven’t seen the inside of a church since you were rudely awakened by a priest dowsing you in cold water will be furtively crossing yourselves at this point. Milton Keynes is indeed a mighty place in which to shop, and made even more lethal by the out of town area called Kingston, which in this case hit us with the double whammy of Mamas and Papas AND Mothercare in convenient side by side locations.
Mamas and Papas, in case you are not familiar is the sort of shop that makes you go weak at the knees, not just because pretty much everything they sell is just so gorgeous it makes you wish you were a baby again, but also because just after you have fallen in love with everything on display, you see the price tag and break out in a cold sweat. Fortunately, they also do the best sales in the world and having lost a large chunk of the morning, we all left the shop laden down with so many bags, it was looking for a time like someone was going to have to walk into the town centre to make room in my sister’s somewhat compact VW Lupo.
By the time Keith met up with us some hours later we had run out of hands to carry the spoils of the town centre. We were also sat in a coffee shop looking for all the world like we had run a marathon, which I suppose to some degree we had really. Top of my favourite shops at the moment is H and M, who seem to have worked out that not everyone is obsessed by pastel colours and have produced a fantastic range of retro clothes. The sleep suit on the right, (white with brown dogs) has been lined up as Alfie’s first outfit by Keith, which I think is an excellent choice myself.
My Bump Is too Big To ...
In other, non shopping related news, I have a few more things to add to the “My Bump Is Too Big To ...” list
Reach high shelves.
Oh yes, indeed. I tried to get the toothbrush off the shelf in the bathroom the other day and thanks to Alfie’s new found size, I could reach far enough over the counter. After much huffing and puffing I moved the counter and relocated (with even more huffing but rather less puffing) the contents to a more accessible shelf. I have noticed a similar difficulty in preparing veg recently too, where I used to be able to hold carrots over the composting bin to top and tail them, I realised the other day that I am now having to stand on tip toes and lean over the worktop to reach it.
Move in non linear fashion.
Bit of an odd one this, and one that perhaps needs a little more explanation. In the last week, I have figured out that Alfie is now too big for me to change positions in anything but corners and straight lines. The bath was the first to raise its ugly head and bite me because like many people, I had never really thought about getting out of a bath before. My usual technique (I now realise) in the days when the law didn’t require I make beeping sounds when backing up, was to grab each side of the bath, push up and outwards into the room. A standard and sensible way to approach things I always thought. That was until the day I went to get out of the bath and ended up in a now familiar side-clutching-frankie-howard-face-pulling-oooh-moment (tm). A few days later I did the same when executing my usual morning bed dismount which frankly is just not cricket at 5.30 in the morning. I do feel a bit of a fool, but I can’t see any other way round it, other than to conduct all changes of position with the precision of a parading soldier.
Sleep a whole night through.
Ah, the first two trimesters were a time of such innocence as I scampered off to the loo in the middle of the night, gleeful because it was a sign of the miracle within. Now, I am not gleeful, I am sleep deprived and somewhat grumpy at the fact that it takes heavy machinery to allow me to turn over at night. I have seen whales arcing majestically out of the ocean to catch a seal with more grace than I can muster in the small hours when the aching in my hips has once again woken me up and I am forced to heave myself over. That said, I am feeling much more chipper this week after the most wonderful purchase any mother has ever made for their daughter – a body pillow. Oh yes, those full length huggable pillows may look like someone is having a laugh, but I tell you, using that thing as ballast is an almost biblical experience: So much so in fact, I have actually had to wrestle it from my darling husband.
And finally a quick update after Monday’s midwife appointment: Alfie’s heartbeat is still strong and healthy, and my bump measure 26.5cm, which is on the slightly small side of normal for my dates. Huzzah!