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!
