Sorted!

It’s been an eventful few months, namely turning 30, starting maternity leave and well, having a baby… so this is the first chance to write about it and a long one… well labour takes a long time and I want my daughter to read this one day.

March was my 30th Birthday and wasn’t all bad even though I really did not want it. Turning 30 is quite a big grown up milestone and I’m not ready for that yet! I had a surprise party that my husband planned and he invited some friends from school I hadn’t seen in years which was a very lovely thought as I know such thinking doesn’t come easy to him! My maternity leave started well, bit of sad occasion to leave all my colleagues behind but I have had so many visits from them all that I haven’t needed to miss them at all, they are so fabulous… and then the icing on the cake was the birth of my gorgeous daughter.

The due date snuck up on me pretty quickly. The last few weeks of pregnancy are bloody tough. The weight, the size, the heat, the pain, everything makes it extremely difficult to do anything and exhausting. By 38 weeks I was begging for my labour to start, I had really had enough. I was having Braxton Hicks contractions quite regularly that were starting to hurt more and more and my progress was being tracked by my boss to our team ‘cervix updates’ as she called them! Wasn’t much to report as nothing was really happening. I tried everything to get things moving, all the old wives tales and anything my midwife suggested I try… nothing. 2 days after my due date my midwife decided to examine me and some news that I wanted to hear came – 1cm dilated and waters bulging and by her experience said I should go into labour within the next 2 days… great I thought, can get this over with…. nothing. The induction was booked which I wanted to avoid at all costs.

Days went by and still my labour wouldn’t start, so again went through all the wives tales and bouncing on a birthing ball… still nothing. Then my friend sent me a tip I hadn’t seen anywhere suggesting I try to bathe in clary sage essential oil and rub some on my bump. In desperation and nothing else working I went to buy some straight away. That evening I had my disgusting smelly bath and went to bed. 2am in the morning I woke with a dull ache in my stomach, bit of blood, woke my husband and I started to feel contractions but thought nothing of them as I had been having them for a while. I went back to bed, told my husband to go back to sleep, if it was labour we could be at home a while anyway. 5 minutes later I woke him again as the pain was worse than I had before and he started to time them. Every 5 minutes on the dot lasting 50 seconds. I managed 90 minutes of it before calling the delivery suite to confirm my labour had started. Can’t say I was impressed with the response given the amount of pain I was in…. have a warm bath, your labour could go on for a long time before it’s established as it’s your first child, so take some paracetemol. PARACETEMOL are you having a f-ing laugh?!! Like that’s going to touch it.

I managed to stay at home until 6.30am when the pain was becoming so bad I needed some pain relief, I didn’t have a TENS machine or anything to try so needed to be in hospital. Called them again to say I was coming in, they tried to convince me to stay home longer, but this time I wasn’t having it I was going in to be examined.

Relief when we got to the hospital, then only to find that there were no rooms on the delivery suite, apparently Monday the 11th May was one of the busiest days they have had all year. Great, the day my baby decides to make a one week late appearance is the day I have to give birth in the corridor! Not only that but by the time we got to the hospital and up to the delivery suite to be greeted by an assistant, she then informs us that 7am is the start of a new shift and that for the next 30 minutes the midwives will be handing over to each other and therefore cannot get any pain relief to me straight away. Oh God, I didn’t think I could go on much longer, by this point my contractions were every 3 minutes and lasting just over a minute. I knew I was getting close but because I was dealing with the pain in my own quiet way, they felt I wasn’t that far along anyway and didn’t need to worry. Apparently you need to be screaming the house down to get attention which just isn’t my way… lesson learnt.

An hour later, a midwife eventually decided to make an appearance to the holding tent (well practically) where I was waiting to be examined. I hopped on the table in a classy beached whale kind of way and then she said ‘oh… actually you are quite far along, 8cm, your baby will be appearing soon’. Shit, and there are no rooms, I told them I needed pain relief desperately… having examined me she agreed and within 5 minutes I was hooked up to gas and air and drunk as a skunk! 30 minutes later the midwife came back to inform us there were still no rooms free but one lady will be moved into the ward shortly, it will be cleaned and I can go in there. It was like a birthing conveyer belt, one in one out. I don’t know how the midwives do it.

Anyway I finally got in the room about 9am ish I think and then the time just flew. The midwife asked whether a student could also come and watch, I agreed seeing as everything was hanging out anyway, the more the merrier, bring them all in! So at this point having been asking for pain relief since 7am and all I got was gas and air, I had asked for morphine and an epidural to which I was refused constantly. I was too late for an epidural… in my drunken state I told the midwife what I thought about that and if they weren’t faffing about when I came in and just seen me I might not be in so much pain now and that she was withholding the morphine to save the NHS money! I can’t remember her response, I think another contraction came, I forgot and she was used to abuse and being criticised so probably paid little attention. She tended to ignore any of my little outbursts. Instead she would just turn to my husband and casually tell him I was making all the right noises and labour must be progressing well. I’ll give her right noises!! I remember asking for morphine between every single contraction and still she said no, there was no time, the baby was coming. I was terrified, I never intended to go through labour with practically no pain relief. I’m all up for epidurals, why suffer if you don’t need to, I have nothing to prove.

Time went on, the midwife kept checking me, my waters that should have broken 5 days ago still hadn’t gone despite hours of labour so she gave me the hook treatment and they were gone… then discovered that the baby had done a little poo and was slightly distressed. Me and the baby’s heart rate were monitored more carefully and then the words that I had dreaded all the way through… your 10cm now, time to start pushing. Now I may be naïve here, I don’t know why but I always thought that when you are 10cm, there would be some kind of body change or something significant to indicate this, like fireworks going off or something, not just a midwife saying lets have a go. I never got the urge to push either so was relying on her. I started to cry quite hysterically when she told me I was ready, I couldn’t push a baby out with no pain relief as she took my gas and air away from me saying I wouldn’t be effective with it. She told me I was crying because I was just scared and that it wasn’t the lack of pain relief that was the problem as I had done really well without it. I was now full on natural birth sans entonox, I couldn’t do it, I didn’t want to do it but before I could really think about it, the midwife and the student had grabbed my legs, put them on their hips and told me to push. I was a bit scared of the midwife, she became hugely militant, so I obeyed!

“PUUUUUSH…”
“I can’t” I said, “it hurts”
“I know, it’s meant to, now just push, we need to get this baby out…. PUUUUSH, keep it coming, keep going, keep going.” By this point I had turned purple, barely got a time for a breath and she was telling me to push again.
“oh no, another contraction” I said.
“Good, now PUUUSH, if the pain is still there keep pushing, push, push, good your doing well”
“I feel sick” So the student got me a pot while the midwife in her constant commentary to the student throughout my labour (to which I probably heard more than I should have done for my imagination was going wild), she told her that feeling sick was quite normal at this stage. Good I thought, I’m normal.
“Now PUUUUSH, I can see the head… keep pushing” my husband was now full on in there watching the crowning. Really quite disgusting, but he was transfixed and I didn’t have time to question him while he snapped away with the camera.
“I’m going to make a cut to make delivery easier” oh oh, an episiotomy, didn’t want one of those but whatever, I need the baby out to stop the pain now
“right come on PUUUSH…….PAAAANT, PANT, PANT”

And that was it. I thought I had hours to go and as I had my eyes shut the whole way through the hour it took push the baby out or I would have felt worse, I had no idea what was going on. I was too focused on obeying the midwife’s instructions and feeling the cold towels my husband was putting on my head to cool me down. It wasn’t until I braved opening my eyes that I was totally amazed to look down and see a baby… I had done it, though I didn’t actually feel it. She was here, my daughter had arrived and the next thing I knew she was put on my chest, my husband cried, I cried, the midwife smiled and lost her military head as the 3 of us cuddled whilst the midwife did some bits down there. Which I have to say was more painful than delivering the baby thanks to a lack of anaesthetic, but it didn’t seem to matter, I had my baby and she was breathing, had all her fingers and toes and looked healthy.

She was taken away to be cleaned, weighed (a healthy and surprisingly big 8lbs considering my size) and handed back to be breast fed. The midwives then disappeared and left the 3 of us to be together for an hour or two before returning to dress her and have me examined by a doctor so as I could shower and then be moved onto the ward. The baby needed to be monitored for 24 hours as she was a little stressed on the way out, but all was fine and we were allowed out the next day. It was over, my beautiful daughter was here and well after a 10 hour labour… now let the fun begin!

It’s inevitable that a growing baby inside you is going to make you slightly larger than before and yes of course things are going to change, your body is going to alter and the positions you used to be able to get into are no longer. Not those kind of positions before you start wondering (though a fair point!) just simple things actually like bending down. Seriously I just don’t think my stomach can grow anymore. I am only a fairly small framed person and carrying almost 3 stone extra and a 41 inch waist, a good 14 inches bigger than my previous self and still growing, is going to have some kind of impact.

Having had a dodgy back and hips before my pregnancy I figured I might suffer a bit towards the end, but didn’t quite anticipate that I would look like a round blob with a huge gut, a fat face, swollen ankles, veins where veins never were before, boobs that sit on my belly, no belly button as my tummy is that stretched, 10 minutes to turn over from one side to the other in bed and a waddle that puts penguins to shame. I think it’s fair to say that if I grow any more I will probably end up in a granny mobile to move around in and require a crane to take me to the hospital to squeeze the bugger out if my stomach doesn’t explode beforehand. It’s not all bad – I don’t have any stretch marks yet!

Well. It’s just 8 weeks to D-day… assuming all goes to plan, which let’s face it, very rarely happens. Hmm the prospect of being a mum brings happiness to my mind like I have never had before, but facing the labour before brings nothing but fear, horrifying thoughts, panic and doom. Yeah everyone says you soon forget after… brilliant but it’s not the after I am worried about, it’s the during. The more drugs available the better. Shove this natural birth stuff, what are you trying to prove? If the technology is there to take the pain away, why put yourself through more unnecessary trauma. My birth plan is simple… the closer to unconscious the better!

So other than moving like a penguin, looking like an obese beached whale when lying down and being brutally attacked inside by the karate kid with serious attitude I seem to be spawning, there are some positives to being pregnant other than of course seeing my beautiful daughter when she arrives.

The benefits, yep they are hmm, let’s see… well, there’s the fact that now everyone talks to my stomach rather than to my face, I’m molested by complete strangers that can’t help but to touch my stomach whilst asking it when it’s due (don’t like to tell them that she can’t speak yet), finding out things about other women’s lower regions when I barely even know their names, getting hostile looks by bitter jealous women that can’t find a shag let alone find someone with half decent genes to father their child, the constant horror stories true or otherwise, the vast wisdom on good parenting as clearly every parent is an expert in everything, and the … well as you can see, other than the end product, being pregnant doesn’t come with a package of listed benefits.

Whilst I have enjoyed being pregnant and feeling my baby move, now I am just too large, tired, generally a bit fed up, uncomfortable 24 hours per day, in pain and a tad tetchy at not getting it as much as I need anymore. Husband also tetchy! That said, there are some very caring and understanding people out there that make things feel better and whilst few and far between they are the ones that matter to me. I did actually get a kiss, cuddle, wink (so to speak!) and a belly rub from a very lovely man that is allowed to do all of those things anytime he wants. He has permission and yes I did confess to my husband! The rest will just vanish with their niceties along with my large waist hopefully.

So there isn’t long to go. The nursery is practically ready, the cot has been made up in case she makes an early appearance, the emergency bag has a couple of bits in it though is working progress and the baby’s wardrobe is more full than my own. NCT classes have started and are surprisingly not as tree hugging as I had anticipated, so I am happy about that. My maternity cover is sorted (bet they love him more than me and resent me when I come back and turf him out!) and my back up birthing partner confirmed! Hee, I say confirmed, she was just told really. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I think she would be fabulous, I trust her implicitly and I would want no one else to support… but jeez having to stand by and watch all manner of stuff coming out of someone you have only known for a few years would certainly put a whole new perspective on things… that’s some self insight you can do without!!

Seems like an age since we were in Dubai now, at least a month, time really flies. What a fabulous place and a gorgeous brand new hotel, we had a great time and coming back to the cold and snow was not a pleasant surprise. Other than absolutely hating the cold, I now have a major fear of ice and snow which triggers this awful imagination of mine that can only lead to disaster… falling and seriously hurting my baby. Hideous to even think that, but I feel incredibly protective of my little bump that I refuse to go anywhere cramped where I may get knocked, pubs where you have to stand, too much dancing and I can’t lay in bed without holding an arm in front of my tummy in case a cat tries to jump on it. I know it is probably perfectly safe in its big bag of water, but can’t help but get scared for something I want more than anything in the world.

I feel very much in love with the little growth inside of me and feeling it kick last week for the first time was amazing. It isn’t particularly active yet and only very occasionally do I feel it kick now, but it is comforting to know that when all is quiet and you’re all alone, this little thing moves and the loneliness somehow disappears. It did give a bit of a kicking yesterday, I think it feels my stress when I’m upset about something which is not healthy and should be avoided. It does let me know though that nothing is truly worth worrying about because the only thing that really matters is my baby and it brings a whole new perspective. A very wise 19 week old unborn bubba, I should learn to listen to it!

It is pretty incredible to think what is going on in there and people I have even barely spoken to are oddly finding their voice to congratulate me and going out of their way to be so lovely. Good job I am actually pregnant or I could be really offended by strangers asking how far gone I am. What If I just packed a few pounds… there would be a few black eyes that’s for sure! I have to say that of all things I didn’t expect pregnancy to teach me, it is that some people are genuinely very lovely. Also highlights those that really couldn’t give a damn and never actually bother to ask how you are, not with any feeling or interest anyway. Not that that worries me actually, it is just eye opening.

Speaking of eye openers I have been on a few training courses recently and just finished another one today. I am not the type of person that needs people to blow smoke up my arse, nor tell me when I’ve f*cked up as it is completely obvious, but every now and again a bit of feedback wouldn’t go amiss. It is usually the way that whenever you receive any kind of feedback it tends to be on the negative, what needs to change, what needs to develop, how you can be better and rarely on what you do well and why that is good. I think that is feedback for me in itself actually, perhaps I need to pay more attention!

Anyway having been surrounded with feedback after feedback which has been great, I have been told twice in the last 2 weeks by completely different people that I can slit throats with velvet gloves… hmm, unclear if that’s a good or bad thing actually but having been said twice I guess I need to take this on board. Not sure that I want to slit anyone’s throat, nor wear velvet gloves to be honest, but it is apparently what I do. Other feedback is that I am really tough and highly critical of myself. It was therefore really nice to find out that people don’t think I am as useless as I’m led to believe and somewhere, somewhere within me there are a few things that I do quite well and colleagues appreciate me. Who’d have thought it?!

Following some fab learning experiences I am now looking forward to the Christmas period and the very busy few weeks ahead. The lack of alcohol over this time of year is really tough, and whilst I have not been a heavy drinker, a few glasses of wine and a gallon or two of Baileys would be awesome. Oh well, all the sacrifices, at least I will have a little baby to show for it and not a defunct liver!

My husband is out all night tonight which is great! The house to myself, the remote to myself and the Christmas decorations that I can put up without the whinging in the background about unravelling the lights and passing me baubles. It’s heaven. Saying that he is staying in a posh hotel with some bird, though he assures me they are in separate rooms and he won’t get too drunk… well as long as he is back looking presentable in the morning as we have some baby shopping to do. Then we have the annual Christmas stupidity, present swapping and traditional chrimbo meal with our best friends before we all go to a black tie ball for a bit of dancing and people watching. Me and Woogs can rest our bumps and watch the men get drunk and make fools of themselves as usual! Then Sunday we have a wedding and possibly a bit more dancing to do late into the evening. I think I will struggle to fight back my tears of for the happy bride. I find myself getting incredibly upset by the smallest of things which have me running to the loo to hide myself away. Ah, it will be such a lovely day and I’m very excited for her!

The last few weeks have been quite eventful, well eventful for my life anyway loads of stuff has happened but the most important part is that we had our first scan last week. I have been terrified of that moment since I found out I was pregnant and have been overcome with worry about what might be going on in there. Up until that day the medical profession had made no confirmation of my pregnancy, just me telling them I’m pregnant, OK and a pregnancy test, alright 3 but still you just never really know.

So confirmation finally came last week meaning I can now begin to enjoy my pregnancy ailments and know that it’s that and buy any little things that I can’t bring myself to leave in the store, you know that sort of thing.

The scan was a totally weird experience. Other than going to the antenatal clinic once more to look around and see that I am possibly the only pregnant lady in there that has a husband and is over 20, but once you’re over that it starts to feel a bit normal. The receptionists still don’t differ much from the miserable bitter women you tend to find in doctors surgeries, but at least the midwives have a happy bone somewhere deep in their bodies.

So there we are sent down the corridor to wait to be called into the dark room to hear one way or another whether there is a baby, whether it is alive, whether it growing normally and whether there is anything wrong with me that could hurt it or whether I am just making the whole thing up. We were busy chatting away when one of the midwives opened the door to her room and out she came… not just any midwife but someone I knew fairly well having recruited and promoted twice in the last 2 years at the company I work for. I heard from her manager 6 months ago that she had left to live her dream of re-training as a midwife. Of all the people, of all the places and of all the times, I had to bump into her whilst waiting for my scan. It was a bit of an awkward moment as she came out of the room with a heavily pregnant women and when she saw me decided to completely ignore the woman she was with and started talking to me about the odd occurrence that had just happened. She didn’t even live locally, what are the chances?! So yet again another place I can’t visit and another thing I can’t keep private.

We were finally called in, I laid down, my husband eagerly leaning over to see what happens next and she squirted the horrible jelly stuff that makes me cringe. I wasn’t expecting it to be warm nor was I expecting it to make a farting noise which made me chuckle childishly while I was waiting to see what appeared on the screen in front of me. Clearly a very experienced Sonographer (I think that’s what they are called, not sure, lady with the scanning thing pressing so I hard I was going to wet myself) and straight away she went to the baby and there it was, this little alien thing wriggling inside me, I mean really wriggling, somersaulting in fact. She measured it, showed us it from different angles and at one point I’m sure it waved to us and then it was over. The picture was printed, she said it is exactly the right length from head to bum for that stage of pregnancy, 4.6cm I think, how cute! Then we were sent back to wait for the midwife to hear about my blood test results and the hundred other things I have remember to do over the next month.

Anyway, scan over, worry subsiding I can start to get on with things. Well I thought and then one of the cats really hurt me again yesterday by dive bombing into my stomach from great height. I’m sure they are trying to harm my baby, they have no thought or consideration! Anyway stomach cramps in tow we went to see French and Saunders live, only after a bit of retail therapy in Selfridges of course. The show was brilliant, it’s such a shame that it has to end when I have grown up watching their acts, bit of a staple diet actually. But 30 years is a long time and if I earned what they did, to be fair, I would give up too and do something that didn’t involve getting dressed of a morning. I think I would be very good at that!

So 2 weeks to go and we are off to Dubai for an extended weekend break for my husbands 30th. Can’t wait, great hotel, good food, non-alcoholic drinks, sunshine, a big bed… well as I have been told I am in enough trouble already and with what the pregnancy hormones have been doing to me in a fantastic way and not being able to get into any more trouble, I intend to have a pretty good time there! Besides my husband will be 30, it is time to celebrate and for these reasons it will be a bigger celebration: we are going to have a baby we both desperately want, this is the last holiday we will be able to take on our own for at least 18 years to come, the last holiday we will have for I don’t know how long, I won’t be able to celebrate Christmas, our 6th wedding anniversary or indeed my own or my best friend’s 30th Birthdays, well not in a traditional way and by then I will be very fat and not want to do much anyway, so now is the time to make up for it!! Watch out Dubai!

Well as my parents sun themselves abroad and mess about in Dolly Parton’s theme park (so to speak!) we are stuck with their 2 dogs. There’s just a week to go and it can’t go soon enough. I really do love dogs, but I just hate them in my house. They stink, they whinge, they are noisy, they make a mess they sniff everything and they have eaten most of my mail, which pleases me no end when I walk through the door to find a 1000 piece puzzle scattered across the hallway.

With five cats in the same house and a separation on the middle floor to keep World War 3 at bay, I have to say that all of this is taking its toll. The house is stair gate galore, teeming with animals and makes me gag from the dog smell. This is not my beautiful house anymore nor is it one where I can feel particularly calm and enjoy my husband, without harassment (so to speak!).

Some form of normality will hopefully begin to resume soon though. In the meantime, I get to spend some quality girly time with my best friend tomorrow while her husband poops a lot in India and mine is out watching football. Yippee! Perfect scenario, so now we can finally have a good undisturbed chat about our pregnancy woes. Well, until 9pm anyway which seems to be my typical climbing into bed time these days.

The nausea kicks in quite badly around 6.30pm when I start to unwind and try and have a sneaky 10 minute nap on the bed until my husband comes home from work and tells me off for being lazy…! Slightly unfair I think, he should be more sympathetic to my needs! Anyway, the nausea will continue throughout the night waking me up feeling sick and needing to urgently pee. If it’s not my body getting me up it’s the cat being sick every hour as was the case last night. I think I average nearly 3 hours broken sleep per night now and have become quite attached to the 2.30am tripe on Sky. All in the name of good practice I’m sure.

The constant moonlight dashes to the toilet either from the top or the bottom end of my body (gross I know) the effort to get back into bed after this is massive, especially knowing that in 50 minutes I will be up again. It hardly seems worth trying to carefully manoeuvre myself back around the cats and husband into a comfortable resting position, whilst trying to protect my painful chest from the weight of the duvet! It’s just ridiculous.

First of all why should I care whether I wake the zoo that silently sleeps in or on MY bed? Second of all, it is MY bed and as the woman of the house, I get priority and I am the one that struggles to get back to sleep. In normal circumstances it would take an atomic bomb to get my husband to stir to anything and even then with such great powers of ignorance he could immediately get back to sleep. Me, I would wake to a mosquito fart and have it take me another hour to relax enough to fall back to sleep again. I guess women are just wired that way. Man, is that gonna change!

Well the past week was possibly one of the most emotional weeks on record and whilst coming to terms with and beginning to enjoy a new situation, I have become an auntie for the 4th time. My sister-in-law, the one who now has 4 children with 3 different men popped another little girl out within 3 hours of her waters breaking. I don’t want to mention the word ‘bucket’ to her, but come on…!

So this baby has broken the wave of typically chavvy girls names that Sharon would give her children; Chantelle, Shanese and Aleesha and now gone for Jacqueline. Can’t say the name is much better, but at least the poor kid might not get type cast for the rest of her life. Well this news was very exciting so I quickly dragged my husband around the shops looking at pretty baby clothes to take on our visit in the next couple of weeks to cuddle the new sprog and make the other 3 remember that they are still loved of course… and show that Uncle Martin still can be very generous with his debit card in my hands!

Making the most of the last day of the summer sunshine yesterday we managed to have a BBQ and a quiet (in fact mute) celebration of the fact my best friend may also be pregnant!! She did a test at home the other day and one with me when she came over and though faint, the line was there! Wow, what fabulous news, couldn’t have timed it better if we actually tried! We are now just waiting for her all important final test before accepting and mentioning the news, but it is all incredibly exciting and keeping my fingers crossed for her. We left the 3 men to it and she I went and had a girly chat and needless to say the nursery is planned and the names are already chosen, so I think she knows the answer. Then it’s just another 8 weeks until the scan. 8 long weeks full of paranoia, hormonal mood swings, toilet trips and sheer worry over every ache or twinge in case it says so much more. All pretty terrifying really.

Well speaking of babies, my current babies (cats) have been playing up. My lovely dining room plants have been shredded at the ends from one little sh*t eating it, even when I was in the room painting he had the audacity to stand there doing it knowing I couldn’t get up quick enough to kick his little white arse into oblivion. Another one was in a horrific fight this morning in next doors garden with the neighbourhood bully. He did come off worse unfortunately with 2 claws ripped out and a gash in his neck, but he’ll survive. Another felt it would be fun to go mental and jump on my sore bloated stomach from the windowsill (I nearly killed her) and the other one has shunned me for spending the majority of the day painting rather than tickling her chin. Tut, get over it!

Actually the whole attention seeking thing sounds a bit like my husband this week too. It was his attention seeking that got me into this situation in the first place, I think he’s forgotten that! Fair enough, he did buy me a massive bunch of gorgeous flowers for when I got home on Friday and we have either spent the rest of the weekend with other people or I have shut myself away to contemplate. Only natural that he may attention seek I suppose. I was having none of it and decided to ignore him in the hope he would get bored and find something else constructive to do. Seeing my disinterest he stood in front of me and pulled up his top to show me his bulging belly from overeating, nice. Then he lifted it further to repeatedly show me his nipples, which I’m not a particular fan of, especially when trying to concentrate on something else. I’m not sure why he felt the need to do that to be honest, but worse than that… while I tried to contain my queasiness at having to admire his nipples he decided to pull his pants down and give me a full on moony,… brilliant! If I wasn’t feeling sick before, I am now… ewww!!!

Well that is how it has been over the past week… lots of highs and very scary stuff going on but all in all things are well.

So Friday morning I got to work feeling tired, though not out of the ordinary and continued as always when I got into a riveting conversation with two of my colleagues about SOX (yawn), immigration rights (yawn), work permits in the EEA (yawn) and how we are going to ensure we follow due process (yawn yawn yawn).

So on this lively and highly exciting debate we were having, something funny happened to me. Not funny ha ha, no that came later with me trying to deal with it in some deranged Elton John impersonation… bear with me; I actually lost part of my vision, in both eyes. Now this in itself is slightly odd, never heard of immigration induced vision loss before. My colleague came to the rescue and I was marched into a darkened room with a bottle of water until I could see enough to be able to stumble back to my desk. Apparently I was blinded by her beauty… hmm not sure about that but if you get my vision back I’ll tell anything you want to hear!

The Elton John bit came in when I did get back to my desk, still partially blind, developing a head ache and feeling really queasy, the only thing left to do was to put on some dark shades to block out the light, however the only ones I could find in my magic drawer were novelty gold rimmed glasses in the shape of stars! Yes the word ‘twat’ did come to mind on quite a few occasions, particularly when unexpected visitors would think I was off my rocker not knowing the ‘valid medical reason’ for why I may need to wear them. Then I started having hot and cold flushes so the dodgy engineer fleece was on then off, then I was running for the loo in a queasy spell and drugging up. Finally I succumbed to really not feeling well and it not being appropriate for me to bring the professionalism of the department right down (whatever!) and I was told to clear off, so I went home.

I was really scared about this incident, I called my husband and told him, he then shouted at me and gave me a royal telling off for letting him know sooner, he packed up and came straight home to my aid. Lovely thought that he cared that much to come and see me, but I was comatose for 16 hours in sheer exhaustion so it was a bit of a wasted journey after I made him walk back from the station and all! Still, I could command pretty much whatever I wanted all weekend, so it was worth it!!!

Sight back in tact, I was on the mend and other than a few aches everything seemed back to normal. And then I found out something yesterday I wasn’t expecting and today has been a bit of a blur, though fortunately for all, not in the embarrassing Elton John kind of way!

So it has been an emotional past week, a colleague has also had a lovely baby and today I was sent some gorgeous pictures of 3 kittens up for grabs. I immediately called my husband to tell him about the great opportunity only to be told a cold “YOU COME HOME WITH ONE MORE CAT AND I WILL FLUSH THE F**KER DOWN THE TOILET” Jesus, only asking, I take it that means no then?!

Fair enough, we do have 5 cats already, one of which just won’t leave me alone, she has been literally attached to my hip for the last couple of weeks, not even leaving my side in bed. When I say in bed, I don’t mean IN bed, I mean when I am in bed she has to be with me. This has in the past acted as an occasional contraceptive whereby any late night attempt my husband made to get near me, she would fend off… which to be fair saved the headache situation occurring when I couldn’t be arsed, though I do question its effectiveness! Anyway, she really loves me I’m sure, it can’t be about food all the time. Last night on one of my many hundred trips for the loo, I asked her politely to move, obviously she didn’t, then I did the hug and role trick, still nothing, then I put my hand under her belly which normally gets her to slowly move away but instead she jumped up in a huff, turned to hiss and then spat at me! Charming, I make myself uncomfortable so as she can be all cute and cuddled up and that’s how she repays me. Well she can forget it… tonight Matthew, we are sleeping cat free!

Beyond all hope, beyond all possibility my Sharkey has sprung back to full life! I am so happy. He’s gone from minutes to death to normal health as I cared for him, watched him, cleaned him, I gave him his medicine and I spoke to him and he has responded like the amazing goldfish he is!! God, I need to get out more!

On another note, my colleague has trusted me with her plants. I warned her that I am great with animals but rubbish with plants. I kill them. I don’t intend to, I really don’t, but there is something in me that completely blocks my mind to think that plants need to be fed too. If a cat is hungry it will annoy the hell out of me so much that I can’t ignore it. If a plant is hungry it wilts a bit, but I don’t notice until it’s too late.

My colleague's brother grew her these tomato plants and they normally stand proudly on her balcony. She has gone on holiday and is so deeply attached to these sodding plants that she held me at gun point to take care of them for her. I was only expecting one little tomato plant and in she walks with an entire nursery I have to care for! What am I supposed to do? If I kill them she will go mad, but worse than that, she will be very emotional about the whole thing which will be no fault of my own. Alright maybe a little of my fault, but I did say I wasn’t very good at it.

I got home from work tonight and the precious tomato plant (unsurprisingly called Tommy) was not very happy. I don’t know why, we have had torrential rain for the past 2 weeks and it’s been reasonably humid. Alright the frost, arctic wind and lack of sun may have had a little impact, but I can’t be held responsible for that. Bit worried though. I asked if one plant died and I replaced it with one the same size would that be OK, and her words were “I KNOW EVERY F**KING TOMATO, EVERY LEAF AND EVERY LITTLE STEM OF THAT PLANT, SO DON’T EVEN TRY IT!” Tut, I only asked…!

Here’s another situation I got myself into. For some reason, I don’t know why, I decided to mention to my boss about how much I love art and that I am not bad at it. Well I used to be much better at it and that is becoming evident in my new project… My boss is buying a new house and I said as a very personal house warming gift I would paint her a picture. In principal it all sounded good, I was very excited to have a new project to concentrate on as I was getting bored of doing things for myself and my parents, so, enthusiastically I have embraced my new canvas… not literally, obviously. I sketched it all out and have so far done the first base coat of half of it. I think it looks OK, but I’m no fine artist. With my attention to detail and need for things be perfect and tidy it is like a piece of magazine print which I know she will hate, so I have to work out a way of making it still look abstract, but also messy to appeal to her…mm... creative mind!. Not sure how I am going to cope with that, I am already feeling over anxious that my dining room now looks like an art studio and is as cluttered as one! My poor mojo!!

Well on a work note, it has been the 2 weeks from hell. Actually it has been a great 2 weeks, just stupidly busy. We had a scary pre-audit take place which we thought we had done everything for. I happily accepted my invitation for the audit interview which at first seemed pretty straight forward. She asked me everything but the colour of my underwear and I think that may have been next on the list if I hadn’t made such a speedy exit! Been a little stressful since this trying to get everything in place for the double scary audit in a couple of months. Maybe I will go commando for that one just in case, it will make the answers easier!!

There was a bit of a calamity with another colleague and a shoe incident yesterday. A text come through to me saying “sorry, I’m going to be late, shoe fell off, sat in gutter, ran for bus but missed it, there soon…” Very intriguing and sounded strangely like the sort of texts I would get from my boss. Such as going on holiday to relax to text me to say that they messed up her room bookings, she got locked in one of the rooms and had to be rescued, she had to spend thousands more to move to another room and then to another hotel, that 3 visits to the doctors was required and that the Doctor thinks she fancies him…etc! I think it is catching!

Anyway, back to the shoe thing. The problem was with a strap that fell off so her shoe wouldn’t stay on. The incident occurred when hurriedly crossing the road to avoid being hit by a lorry which then required some speedy hopping to the other side resulting in a plummet to the gutter and the entire bus stop laughing at her! This is the person that when embarrassed has a tendency to faint, so that was my first concern when I got the text (after laughing hysterically at her misfortune!). Sitting in the gutter embarrassed and bruised whilst being laughed at in the rain on the way to the office, is probably not the best time or place to faint! She made it in shortly after avoiding the learner bus driver and we went about a fix for the shoe. Finally a paper clip twisted into the button hole did the trick which luckily enough could double up as a lightning conductor earthing device. Something that she could be thankful for as we all watched the flats in front of the office get struck by lightning and see the top of the roof fall off! It kept 3000 people in the office occupied as we all watched the fire service come and sort it out. The little things!

I also think I have put on at least 2 stone in the past 2 weeks as at least 6 people have celebrated their Birthday, plus one wedding and one departure. It has also made me very poor. I really don’t need to be eating so much crap, I’m fat enough as it is without an additional 3 inch layer of chocolate lard being deposited in my arse. Oh well, guess you only live once!

I got home tonight and my beautiful Sharkey, the Goldfish I have had for 9 years, is what I would call ‘critically’ ill.

Sharkey was bought for me when I lived with my friend in the 2nd year of university. He has moved house with me 4 times since, jumped out of the tank twice and got swiped by one of my cats before I got down to pick him up, and he survived the attack!

He has taken pride of place in his own tank away from the main 50 gallon aquarium because every friend we gave him (including George), he ate. He grew big and he does have a personality, if only a little one. He has a 6 month memory (not 3 seconds according to the myth). I am a cold and fresh water fish guru, with fish breeding and fry rearing ability don’t you know!!

Anyway, he recognises me, kisses my finger (OK yeah he thinks it’s food, but I like to think of it as kissing), he recognises the food pot and tells me when he wants feeding. That’s all I would expect.

Yes call me geek, I have already been called an anorak today (I won’t forget!), so really it doesn’t matter. I love my Sharkey and now I am observing the end of his eventful 9 year life. I have shed a few tears tonight as it is a bit of an end of an era for me and all that mean cold horrible husband of mine did, was laugh! He is a very valuable pet to me, and whilst I could go and get another one for £5, they won’t be Sharkey and I’m emotional, so I am incredibly sad about it. That’s all I have to say on the matter. [Sigh].

I don’t know if it’s just me, but I find more and more that I am ruled by time. Not just that actually, but that now it is starting to annoy me and my view on time is changing.

I am dictated to by technology almost every minute of my day. When I wake up, when I go to bed (i.e. nothing worth watching on TV!), my diary pop ups telling me where I should have been 10 minutes before, life or death tasks that must be completed by X day or the whole world will collapse without that sodding Excel report. I’ll give you a f-ing Excel report! Seriously, where has the human element of trust gone? No longer can you kindly walk to someone, meet them face to face (yeah, face to face, remember that?!), ask them nicely in a friendly tone and trust that support will be given within a timeframe, give or take a day or two. No, now you do it all by technology. Send an email of what is required and a diary invite for when delivery must be received. If you are really tight to time and fail to deliver by the outlook pop up, you could be lucky enough to receive a text message notifying you that your P45 will be posted and you have been fired! What has the world come to?!

Continuing with the subject of time, I just don’t feel I have any. When in reality, I probably have a bit more than most as I don’t have kids yet. I probably do it to myself, I like to plan, I like to have things organised and it’s not unusual for my husband and I to have the next couple of months of weekends and things to do sorted out. I don’t like not knowing, I hate surprises, I book my holidays a year in advance, I’m not particularly spontaneous and going off plan annoys me. Yet I can still moan about time I hear you say! Absolutely, there is a difference. My time (non at work time) is fine to be organised because that’s what I like doing and normally it is things I really want to do. I guess what I am really saying is that if I choose to do something exciting it’s alright, but if it is chosen for me and involves Microsoft, it’s taking my time away! Yeah OK, it’s called a career and that’s life, I get it.

Another thing with time, is that it’s really valuable and surprisingly, there is only so much of it. I like not to have many regrets about how it is spent, so watching a role play for an hour then having to hear the exact same thing played over a tape recorder can irritate me slightly. Especially when the vibrations coming from my Blackberry tell me I am missing other vitally important deadlines putting me just a little closer to that text message!

Well with the ticking time and the whole thirtyness thing, next year I will enter the dreaded decade, probably one of the scariest and busiest decades of my life and will have to say goodbye to my twenties. In the 20’s you can be forgiven more, ‘she’s still young’ ‘lots of development’ ‘she’ll learn’. In the 30’s all is not forgiven. At 20 you can turn up late for parties and look cool or at worst have eyes rolled at you then it’s immediately forgotten. At 30 if you turn up late to anything you just seem to be considered unreliable, boring, under the thumb or a mother! I hate being late for anything, now I am, and that’s all I need. Whilst there are many things I would like to be when turning 30, being 3 stone heavier and ante-nataled up is definitely not one of them. Time may be disappearing, but I don’t intend to waste it being the sensible Debbie I am always labelled. If only people got to know me and I would talk more!

In summary to my time dilemma, there are chances worth taking sometimes and I have had many reminders of this recently. Whilst the path of least resistance sounds great in principal and may have been one I adopted in my early 20’s, it’s not one I think I can get away with in my 30’s. Time to grow up unfortunately!