I was meant to write this post on the flight home from our trip to Greece, but as has been the case quite often lately, I was too lazy. So here is my 26 weeks post, a little late.
It turns out, in fact, that 26 weeks is actually six months after all. You’d think, with an A in Maths GCSE that I might have been able to work that one out before, (52 weeks in a year, 26 weeks being half of 52 – DUH) but clearly I read somewhere that 24 weeks was six months’ pregnant and got muddled again. In my defence, I reckon no one actually knows what the hell is going on with pregnancy dating, so you can make it up as you go along if you like. Cos apparently 24 weeks is ‘in your sixth month’, if not six months exactly. Or something.
Anyway, here I am, having been carrying around Chip (as we have nicknamed the baby) for exactly half a year. I know, my bump looks still piddling doesn’t it? I’m not entirely sure it’s growing at all, but have been measuring its circumference with a tape measure weekly (not sure how scientific that is) and can confirm that something in there is getting bigger! My new refrain to Oli in the mornings is ‘do I look pregnant today or fat?’ and he’s mostly answered ‘pregnant’ recently so I feel somewhat reassured.
Apart from my lovely holiday, which was beset by a strange sort of grieving process whereby a voice in my head kept saying things like ‘this is the last time we’ll get on a plane just the two of us’, ‘this is the last time we’ll go out for dinner on holiday alone’, ‘this is the last time we’ll doze by the pool’, life has been pretty awful lately. For reasons I can’t go into, but that have involved lots of serious grown-up meetings and questions about the future. The stress of this situation actually resulted in my blood pressure going through the roof, and so at my 24 week check up, I was told by the GP that, seeing as my bump was also measuring small for my dates, I should go and have an emergency scan straight away to check everything was OK.
Thankfully, everything was OK. The baby measured perfectly for the dates and was bouncing around quite happily in my apparently diminutive bump, seemingly oblivious to my woes. The baby was even ‘practising breathing’ as we watched. Who knew they did this?! They ‘breathe’ in amniotic fluid and blow bubbles as they exhale it – as you can see in the pic. Very cool.
Unfortunately, the baby still has my nose, but you know, you can’t have everything. It was a relief that he/she was healthy, but I have been advised to minimise stress (not particularly easy, I have to say) and so I’m trying really hard to take it easy. Thank god for all the bank holidays in May.
In other pregnancy whinges, I have some new symptoms to report. First off, my feet. I should have known, because even pre-up-the-duff my feet used to swell up on aeroplanes, but my feet at the moment (two days post-flight) are huge. Huge and puffy and hot and throbbing. Yesterday I wore normal shoes to work and by the end of the day apparently my feet had decided to go up an entire size, making my shoes unbearably painful. Today I’m in flip-flops and my feet are covered with blisters from yesterday. My mum says this will only get worse (she had my sister in August) as the weather warms up, so that’s something to look forward to *prays for a washout summer*. I never imagined I would lie in bed moaning and whimpering about how painfully HOT my feet were – tis a new one, and a weird one.
The other final symptom has been somewhat disturbing. Upon removing my bra while in Greece, I noticed two tiny yellow stains in the middle of each cup. Yep, I am officially morphing into a human cow. Yet again, who knew? There’s no baby yet, why is there stuff coming out of my nipples already? And also, where the hell does it actually come from? I still don’t exactly understand where the holes are in nipples.
And these are the things that, pre-pregnancy, you never have to even THINK about. Oh those blissful days…