The Third Trimester

On Monday I reached 28 weeks pregnant. The third trimester! I still have a long twelve weeks to wait before meeting this baby, but getting close to half of me is now anticipating that we will actually get there without something going wrong.

The boys are heading back to, and starting, school, so for the first time in 6 years, my days will very soon be my own. I am both nervous and excited at ‘starting over’ with a new baby. Nervous because it will be another 5 years from now before my youngest will be at school and I will be 45 by then (eek). Will I cope with 5 more years of sleep deprivation, tantrums, and awful toddler and baby groups?? I have not always found motherhood to be the easiest of responsibilities. Will I look old and ancient in the playground compared to other mothers? I have struggled, deep down, with the appearance of grey hairs and wrinkles – they make me sad. Then on the other hand, despite my rapidly advancing age (and the fact that I never, ever, planned to have babies in my early 40s), I am eagerly excited to do it all over again. This time with the wisdom and (hopefully) calm that comes from experience, and of course with boundless gratitude that we have been able to do this at all, given our chances seemed pretty much nonexistent at one point.

I haven’t got another midwife appointment until I am 30 weeks pregnant, and in total in 6 months of this pregnancy I have seen a midwife just three times. I know this is in part down to me booking in so late, but I have not been called for the whooping cough vaccine, nor for a glucose tolerance test… I am feeling a little like I’ve just been left to get on with it. My husband says if it was the other way around I would be complaining about people hassling me when it wasn’t necessary, and he is probably right.

However, I am starting to feel nervous about the birth. With my oldest son I haemorrhaged so rapidly and so badly that I lost consciousness, ended up in theatre, needed an emergency blood transfusion and manual removal of the placenta. With my second son I had the same issue with the placenta, and another massive haemorrhage. I have all the usual concerns about the birth, but I am absolutely terrified about how we are going to get the placenta out. I will research this once the boys are at school and make a plan, and a backup plan, and a backup, backup plan, but I am frightened and there is no real way for me to appease that fear. Given that one of my miscarriages also resulted in a haemorrhage so bad I was in hospital for three days on nil-by-mouth with another emergency blood transfusion, I think I can safely say that my concerns are very real and they need to be addressed by the staff at the hospital so that they can plan for what might be.

Sigh. I’m feeling a little down this morning. Can you tell? In other news, my weight gain at 28 weeks stands at 8.2kg, or 18lbs. My pelvic pain is dull and constant and this baby feels very low compared to the boys at this stage. I want to do more exercise, but anything, even walking, aggravates my pelvis. In all honesty, I’m ready to have the baby now. 40 weeks (+3 days as it was for the boys) can’t come soon enough. Having spent so long trying and trying and trying, and having failed pregnancies over and over, all we want is for this baby to arrive safely. I won’t be sad to be leaving pregnancy behind, which is a feeling I never had with my second. I won’t be sad to be focused on family life and never have to worry about peeing on a fucking stick ever, ever, EVER again. I have already started to clear out old maternity clothes that no longer fit – I am saving nothing this time around and it gives me a sense of immense freedom to know that we are moving forward and will not be repeating this, that all the clutter and paraphernalia and pregnancy STUFF can all just be let go.

When the kids are older I want to travel with them, see the world, to do all the things that we haven’t even thought of for three years because we have only had one focus – completing our family. The husband and I have come up with a plan to attempt to pay our mortgage off early. It’s a crazy plan, but we both realise that the financial freedom this would give us would be life-changing. We can see the future now, and make plans, and I feel in awe of the pleasure that this gives us – something that as a couple now we have ignored and ignored and ignored, until we ‘got number three sorted’.

So, final words (gosh, I’ve written a lot – I didn’t mean to write an essay this morning). As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve been consolidating everything digitally. I’ve gone back to using the Day One app as a record of thoughts and statuses, and it now has new functionality that lets me share to twitter, Facebook, linked in or whatever I like. I LOVE this, as it’s a central private database and I can share the information I want to share really easily. So, I’ve managed to delete un-needed profiles and tidy up my method of recording and sharing things.

Blogging-wise, I’ll almost certainly write here until the baby is born, but as I already mentioned I’m moving over to a new blog where I’m going to share as the Real Me – part of my larger plan to bring the fractured parts of my personality together. We’ve reduced so much in the house, and I’ve cleared away/given up so many other projects that were consuming my energy in a negative way, that I’ve suddenly found time and motivation to do things I’ve been putting off for years. I’ve started writing again, and am working on a novel, which I’m really enjoying, especially as I’ve been meaning to do it since my brief encounters with success and publication last year. I’ve been a better mother, as I am stressing less about all the things I have to do (because the list is drastically reduced). I should update my impossible list, as I’ve ticked off a lot of things on there recently. I may move this onto my new blog. We’ll see.

One last thing, I saw a counsellor last week for my first session and it went well. She is a lovely lady, who bore just the right expression of concern as I talked nine-to-the-dozen for 50 minutes, including some uncontrollable sobbing where I literally couldn’t speak. I will blog about this separately – it’s still early days and my second appointment is this evening. I have no idea where we’re going to go with what I’ve told her, so we’ll see what happens.

And I think that’s about it 🙂 I’ve had a wonderful summer with the boys. I’m psyching myself up to actually order some real, physical, baby things (we still only have a moses basket and no newborn clothes, baby bouncer, pram or anything else). I’m writing. I’m feeling relaxed in my free time. I’m content. For the first time in so, so, SO long, I’m just content when I sit down and everything is still. It’s such a peaceful feeling it makes me want to cry with the beauty and simplicity of it. I feel endless, endless gratitude that life has reached this point, and that somehow I have been given the chance to be here. I can feel the autumn in the air, the close of another summer, nature’s final push before settling in for the long winter, and I am welcoming this change with open arms. Autumn has always been my favourite season. Darker nights, colder days, the stillness and inactivity. I want to gather my whole family around me, to stay warm and close until spring returns.

Consolidating Digital Stuff

I’ve been sorting digital data out all over the place, and have decided to continue blogging under my real name, with my normal email address, in a location that people I know in real life could find me (if they were so inclined). Shock!

My blog probably won’t be as personal, or emotional as the stuff I’ve spent the last three years writing. But then again… maybe it will.

I’ve exported all the blogs I follow (that’s all of you!) and added them to the reader of my main wordpress ID, so if there’s a random new Faye following you, it’s probably me 😉

My main general blog will now be:

St Francis’ Folly

The static page on the front are links to my various online homes, and you can also link to new posts from there – it only has one post on at the mo.

Sorry if that all sounds confusing – it really is simpler. My current set up means I miss notifications and don’t catch up on reader because half the time I’m logged in as my other profile and it was all getting too much to juggle.

I’ve consolidated a load of other non-blogging stuff too, all to make my digital life a lot simpler, and it is wonderful. I just love getting things organised!

As for THIS blog, I will probably update on here to get to the point of closure on some of the things I’ve been talking about, which are too personal to share. Gradually I plan to move over to the other blog full-time.

This all kind of ties in with self-acceptance and allowing myself to be ME without worrying about others judging me or thinking I’m weird/odd/stupid/crazy. Also it means I can connect with all different types of people under the same wordpress account, from writers, to programmers, to healthy eaters to other parents. And if my real life friends want to be a part of that, all the better. And if they don’t, then that’s cool too.

26 Weeks

26w

Things are all going well., although I’m finding that I’m feeling a lot heavier now.

Total weight gain so far is: 6.9kg (15.21 lbs)

This last week I’ve had a complete break from exercising. When I went out for my 5k run the previous Friday, I had pain in my groin right from the start. I thought that’s fine, I’ll just walk it. So I walked 5k, but even that was too much I think. When I got home I was in pain all day long.

It didn’t ease over the weekend, so I’ve had a complete break for the week – my symptoms are exactly those for SPD, so I suspect that my pelvic join at the front is loose/strained and there is, after extensive research, NOTHING I can do to correct that while I’m pregnant. I’m seeing the midwife on Thursday, so I’ll ask her about it then. I’m a bit fed up about this as I was really enjoying the exercise, but almost everything I did was making the pain steadily worse, so for now, I will rest up. Maybe I’ll be able to pick up again, but from what I’ve found out, it seems it gets worse as the baby gets bigger.

My other interesting “side-effect” at the moment is a HUGE varicose vein on the back of my right thigh. It is AWFUL. I didn’t have this (or haemorrhoids) with the boys either before or after the birth, so I am unsure why it’s suddenly popped up (literally). I guess my body is just older and finding it harder to deal with. I’m really worried about it – it looks so horrible and now I’ve spotted it, I’m conscious of it aching and itching on and off in the day. I’ve always had thread veins on my legs too (since I was a teenager, pretty much), but they have gotten a LOT worse over the last few weeks, especially my right leg again. My legs are turning into proper ‘old lady’ legs, which isn’t fun to witness.

Other than that, I’ve had a good couple of weeks. I’m sleeping really well (although I’m going to get a pillow asap as I’m finding it harder to get comfortable and I really worry about squashing the bump). I always seem to wake up on my back, which doesn’t help varicose veins (it compresses the main artery and can affect blood flow to the uterus, pregnant women should ideally sleep on their left side). I’ve been trying really hard not to sleep on my back, but when I’m unconscious it still seems to be my preferred position.

My appetite is finally dropping back a little (thank god). And the sugar cravings, although still high, are not the out of control things they were. I’ve gotten my calorie average down a little this last week, so I’m hoping to build on it this week and try and moderate my eating back to a sensible level. Thankfully my stomach now has less room, so food seems to last longer 🙂

Not only that, but the idea of eating salads, and even juices and smoothies, suddenly doesn’t seem so ‘yuk’. I’ve had a real aversion to them over the last month or so, and have eaten carbs and nothing else. I’ve been stricter with remembering my vitamins and things this week as I’m worried I’m not getting anywhere near my full complement of everything, but slowly I’m getting fruit and (more importantly) veg back into my diet.

I should be due a blood test at some point, as I was anaemic at week 16 when I booked in. I’m just under the threshold, so I haven’t worried about it yet as a certain level of haemodilution is totally normal (and studies show women who are mildly anaemic have better labour and birth outcomes than women who are very anaemic, or not anaemic at all). My blood measurements are very  important to me, given my haemorrhaging history, so I was also really pleased to see that my platelet count (which helps clotting) was in normal range at 16 weeks (with both other pregnancies it was low – never mentioned by a doctor – and I bled profusely both times). I’ll ask the midwife when my next bloods are due.

What else… ah – the whooping cough vaccine. There’s a national program in effect in the UK (and some other countries) to vaccinate third trimester women against whooping cough. This is a new thing, since I was last pregnant, because of the rising incidence of whooping cough, and the recent death of several newborns who were under 2 months (vaccination age).

However, the vaccine (for cost reasons) is the same vaccine given to non-pregnant women and also contains diptheria, tetanus (and polio?). The manufacturer of the vaccine in the UK has “Not suitable for use in pregnancy” clearly stated on the vaccine label. I’ve done a bit of research on this, but it’s hard to find reliable figures on loss given the program has only been running for a couple of years. Out of the babies that died from whooping cough after birth, two of them HAD received the vaccine via the mother in pregnancy. So it’s not a guarantee. However, with two boys at school (and a father-in-law who volunteers in a hospital), I am erring towards having the vaccine at the moment. There is a Facebook group set up by a lady whose baby died (in utero) a week after she received the vaccine, and she was calling for the release of information about stillbirth figures, but it hasn’t been active for a long time. So…

I don’t know at the moment.

I think that’s about all. We’re now two thirds of the way through the summer holidays, so only two weeks until my youngest starts school, sigh.

I’m looking forward to my counselling session, and having some time at home to focus on this pregnancy as it speeds into the third trimester.

I Booked A Counsellor

My mum was supposed to visit on Monday. I told the boys she was coming. She called in the morning to say she wasn’t coming after all as there were builders doing some work in her building and they needed open access to all the flat doors. Fair enough.

We rescheduled for Tuesday at 1:30pm. For an hour beforehand the boys kept saying “Is granny here yet?”.

At 1:40pm, the phone rings. I know it’s my mum. She says she’s not coming because the weather has gotten all dark and a storm is coming in. I look out of the window. It’s 20 degrees and sunny. I do admit – it was windy out. But that’s all.

She says “they said a storm was coming, and I don’t like to drive in bad weather.” I get off the phone and tell the boys granny isn’t coming for the second day in a row and they both burst into tears. They cry and cry and cry. I hug them both and I want to cry too, because at that moment, I hate her. I want to call her back and say “Can you hear this?? You did this.”

When the boys have calmed down, I check the forecasts. There is no mention of any kind of storm anywhere. My mother, as usual, is lying, in order to get out of telling the truth and being honest about why she is doing something. She lied and lied and lied all through my childhood. I watched her do it with others, and I know as an adult, instinctively, when she is lying to me.

With all the shit that’s been going around my head about her recently, it just brings it all up to a bubbling rage in my thoughts. Not good. And a bad place to parent from.

Well, the next day, I had a playdate arranged with a lady who I don’t really like that much, and to be honest I don’t really like her kids that much either. They came to our house once and it was AWFUL. They ran riot, drew on the walls (!!), climbed all over the bedroom furniture, spent the whole time playing wrestling and killing games, and were just like two animals at the table for lunch. I’ve avoided her since then, but last week she sent me a text saying “Would you like to do a playdate on either Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday?”

So, here’s where this starts to tie in with my mum. Somehow I have grown up with this terrible fear of ever offending anyone. I will agree to things I don’t want to do so that I don’t upset other people, even if that means I eventually upset myself. How stupid is that? This is because my mum does a wonderful job of playing the victim – as a child I was told over and over how hurting other people and not considering other people’s feelings is the worst thing you can do. As an adult I can see that she was trying to teach me that (as an abused child), that she wished people had taken her feelings into consideration more. Nothing wrong with that, but the general lesson I have learnt is that I should put myself firmly last for fear of EVER upsetting anyone else.

So, because we are clearly not on holiday, and I can’t bring myself to refuse outright, I agree to a playdate on the Wednesday, even though I don’t want to go.

I decided to set some boundaries, to keep it short, so I explain we’ll come after lunch until before tea, which will give them a couple of hours to run around at the local woods (I suggest this because I do not want to be at either our house or her house, and I don’t want to pack picnics and carry heavy bags around for hours).

Great.

But she doesn’t respond, and then I saw her at a party last weekend. She says to me “Are you still okay for Wednesday?” all bright and smiles. And then she says she thought we could go to a lake that’s half an hours drive away, take a picnic, use the splash park and visit the free museum there.

Er, right. So this ties in with my mother again. I am like a rabbit in the headlights at this point. This is nothing like what I said in my text that I was able to do, so what do I do? Instead of sticking to MY boundaries, I watch aghast as I find myself saying,

“Oh we haven’t been there for a long time!”

I don’t actually agree, but I don’t disagree either. So now I’m angry on two counts – my weakness at not being able to set my own boundaries and her lack of consideration for disregarding what I had suggested completely, and coming up with a totally different plan.

The next day I text a compromise and say we’ll come in the morning from 10, bring food and head off after lunch. She responds, “perfect!”.

I spend two days dreading it.

The first thing that happened when we met at 10 was her getting crisps and grapes out for her kids. Her kids are ALWAYS eating. She says they eat all their meals, so that’s great, but mine are pickier, and I’ve been reading a lot about snacking recently and how it’s not great for kids or adults, and how we shouldn’t be afraid to be hungry for our meals. So the boys ask me for something – I say we will eat at lunch as I have a nice picnic for them, but she says they can share the crisps and grapes… my boys are diving in before I can say anything, so I let it go.

Then, her boys just take a piss whenever they want to go. They just go up to a tree, pull down their trousers and go. Once, a while ago, she told her son to pee round the back of the school building after school instead of just going into the building and using the goddamn toilet. I know that a 5 year old needs to go, but what she is teaching them is that at the age of 19, when they are walking home from the pub it is totally acceptable to piss up against a tree in someone’s front garden, or round the back of a garage, or even outside the building of a public toilet. I think it’s just plain wrong. But what do my boys do? Of course, they want to do the same – it’s different and exciting to wee outside the toilet. Sigh. Since the toilet block is a 5 minute walk away from the play park, I let that go too.

Then she wants to go off and buy some crabbing kit so we can look for crabs in the lake. I think this is a bad idea, because a) my kids are still 5 and 3, and there are some things that they will appreciate more when they are older and b) it involves the lake. Actually, the lake turned out to be about 18 inches deep all round the edge (man made), so that part was okay, but the crabbing thing. Oh man. Her kids didn’t bother to put shoes on after playing in the park sandpit, so they walked down to the lake in bare feet. I insisted the boys wore their shoes, which caused some grief, but it’s not a f*cking beach, it’s a concrete path littered with swan poo and dropped ice-cream and god knows what else.

The crabbing held the boys interest for about 10 minutes, as I thought it would. Then they started running around, playing with the crab lines, wrestling each other, and generally being difficult. We should have gone back to the park, or done something else, but she was adamant she wanted to catch a crab. The wrestling continued, and the next thing I know, I look up and my son and her son are half way around the lake where they have wandered off on their own. In alarm I let her know and she says “oh I’m trying to give mine a bit more freedom.” Well, I’m not, and my 5 year old is the other side of the fucking lake.

I say to her, “I’m going to get them” and I run around the lake to ask them to come back closer. She starts talking about how she walked to school on her own from age 5, and how her parents got the balance right, which I counter with how it was a different era back then and how I also walked to school on my own at 5, but that’s because my mother spent my childhood asleep on the sofa and was generally useless.

I start to get the impression she thinks I am too controlling, and expect too much of my kids, which really galls, as I come from just about the loosest background imaginable and I am by no means a strict tiger mum. My priority is their safety.

Anyway, things go downhill from there (if that’s possible). My oldest, who has always been challenging in his behaviour starts to behave in a way I haven’t seen for a long time. We eat lunch and straight afterwards, the other boy comes to tell us that my son has thrown the whole crabbing line (handle and everything) into the pond. This isn’t the first time my son has done something like this with other people’s things.

The mum looks shocked and asks him to ask someone for a net so we can retrieve it.

Next, my oldest just randomly shoves my youngest hard as he walks past, and he falls onto the concrete and screams in pain. This is because he is feeling hurt and upset after the crab line thing and he doesn’t deal well with these emotions.

This is the moment at which I should have left (as I was going to after lunch), but the mum has suggested we take a quick look around the museum before we go. I reluctantly agree (my mum again), but on the way, my son picks up a toy from next to someone else’s picnic blanket, walks off with it and throws it hard into the museum building wall. Again the other mum looks shocked, and that is when I take action (too late).

I say we’re going to go home. She looks at me in disbelief almost, that I am reacting this way to his behaviour (but I know there’s no stopping it now), and heads off into the museum. I insist that my son returns the toy to the rightful owner and then I explain that we’re going home. My three year old instantly starts crying loudly (he wanted to see the dinosaur in the museum), and my oldest, who is now in full-on rage mode refuses to move. I have lost patience by this point, so after I count to three I end up dragging him by his arm back to the car park. He struggles and tries to punch me in the stomach, which I avoid. I parade them both back through the park, one crying, one screaming and struggling.

When we get there, I am so, so angry. I am angry at my son’s lack of respect, at how he hurt his little brother, I am embarrassed at his behaviour, and I am angry with myself for coming on the playdate to start with and then for not standing up for all the things that are important to me. I’m angry that he has tried to hurt me, and I’m angry (from fear) that he could have hit my stomach with the baby in there.

I get both boys in the car and get in myself. I’m about to start the engine when my oldest opens the door and climbs out, saying he refuses to go.

At which point I lose it. So I walk around and I smack him. The thing I have always been dead against, the thing that I feel so strongly about, the thing that is bound up with fear that I will somehow become my grandmother and the abuse will skip a generation.

He cries and cries, but still refuses to fasten his seatbelt. I drive all the way to the car park exit (I would never go into the road) and he is crying, telling me I’ll get into trouble if I drive while he isn’t strapped in. I scream at him “PUT ON YOUR SEATBELT NOW!”. Which he does, but then he blows a raspberry at me.

And (I feel total shame even writing this, don’t judge me, I have already cried for hours over this), I get out of the car and smack him again. He then hits me back, I smack him yet again. He cries.

It was the worst parenting moment I have ever had.

We all sat in silence on the drive home. I spent the whole time trying not to break down into a sobbing mess.

So. The aftermath.

When we got home, I settled my youngest into playing with his cars, and went to talk to my oldest. I asked him what had driven his behaviour and he explained that the other boy had upset him. I explained (as I should have done hours ago), that getting angry with someone happens, but that taking our anger out on other people’s possessions isn’t the right thing to do. I asked about the toy he picked up and he said he didn’t realise it belonged to the picnic group – this may be the case. It’s sometimes hard to tell with him. We had a long hug and I told him that I never wanted to have a day like this again. And I also explained that it was better if we didn’t have playdates with those kids again because their mummy had very different rules to our rules. He seemed fine with this, which is interesting as he would have protested if it was someone he was very fond of.

So, in the afternoon we went out for a bike ride, and visited the mobile library, and all was well again. But before I cooked tea, while they were watching cbeebies, I went upstairs to our bedroom and sobbed as silently as I could. I cried so violently, with such great gasps of breath, I thought my throat was going to rip apart.

I was a horrible, horrible person for those moments and it was only partially down to how my kids were behaving. It was mostly down to me. My issues. My problems. And ultimately, my anger.

And that was the point I knew something had to change. I fantasised about calling my mother and telling her not to visit again. That I didn’t want her to be involved in our lives any more. But it’s just fantasy – I don’t think I have the guts to ever do that.

So I contacted a counsellor. I’m booked in for 25th August (too far away, but she had nothing nearer).

And I know that I need to start standing up for myself. Not least because I am a role model for my kids and if I don’t say what I want, and what I’m happy with, how will they ever learn to?

If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.

Right? Well, I’ve fallen for anything my whole life. My idea of standing up is running away, which I’ve done over and over. I know that I spent years seeking inappropriate attention from boys to fill the void of missing affection I never got at home. I know that I struggle with routine and structure because my mother never did those things when we were kids. I know that I seem to have taken on a whole boatload of my mother’s worst qualities, even though I was never the child that was actually abused. I know that I live in fear of turning into my grandmother because of the rage I feel inside (possibly also transferred from my mother during my childhood). I know that I often feel alone, and unimportant, and like no one really cares about me (because if your own mother doesn’t fill that role, who the hell will?).

What I don’t know, is how to lay all this to rest.

So that’s what I’m going to find out. I’m going to pour my heart out to this woman (she has no idea what’s coming). I’m going to tell her, no holds barred, how I really felt about the time my mother threw my new knickers (that had lace on, which I was so proud of) into a group of my friends at my 10th birthday party as a joke and laughed about it. How I felt when she sent me to the shops with my dad to buy sanitary towels for my first period, how I felt when she laughed at the fact I’d have small boobs when I grew up. How she slept with dogs in her bed and tended diligently to budgies, fish, tortoises but could barely bring herself to spend time with me and my brother. How we turned up at her place for Christmas one year and my brother’s room had a bare fucking mattress on the floor and an uncovered old duvet to sleep under, while she had put me in her bedroom with a made up double bed (why would you treat your children that differently??). About how she got drunk and told me, laughing, exactly how she killed my old and sick gerbil to put it out of its misery. About how she asked me, when I was an adult, if my uncle had ever abused me sexually (he didn’t), yet she was the one who sent me off to spend time with him. I’m going to tell this woman all the things that make my soul ache for how uncaring my mother was all while teaching me to spend my life bending over backwards to make sure I don’t upset other people.

What a fucking joke eh?

Oh yes – and I got a text from carefree mum this morning saying she really enjoyed yesterday and after we left they went to the splash pool and had a really great time. She also said that illness can cause “less than perfect” behaviour. I can’t help wonder if there’s a subtext here – that we missed out on a “great time” by leaving or that I was expecting perfection from my kids and was wrong to take them home after three instances of not very nice behaviour… I don’t know. My paranoia often interferes with an objective interpretation. I certainly wasn’t expecting my son to be perfect yesterday, but I do expect him to have respect for other people’s possessions. Sigh.

Anyway.

Onwards.

And onto the work of leaving the past behind.

24 Weeks

IMG_8332
Excuse the floor mess – we’re in the middle of changing the furniture in the boys room, so their clothes are temporarily all over the floor in here!

Firstly, I’m overwhelmed by the messages of support on my last post – I cried reading them, and am hugely, hugely grateful. I will reply to each one individually.

Phew. So – 24 weeks. VIABILITY.

The baby has a chance of survival if born now, and medically, if I lost the pregnancy, it would no longer be a ‘miscarriage’. It’s been a milestone I’ve been waiting to reach and I think last week I was also anxious about something going wrong in the final days/hours before reaching this point.

But I made it!

So, last weeks stats:

Weight gain
0kg (YAY!!!!!!!)

God knows how as I averaged 2,259 cals per day over seven days, but there we go.

Exercise

Monday
20min strength
40min run (4.43km)
Tuesday
15min cardio
40min yoga
Wednesday
20min strength
20min run (2.3km)
Thursday
15min cardio
40min yoga
Friday
53min run (5.6km)
Saturday
REST
Sunday
REST

Step count

M 10,196
T 5382
W 8254
T 6469
F 9435
S 3345
S 3061

Total 46,142

I have to say, by Thursday/Friday last week I was feeling tired – really worn out and I had a waver of commitment over getting up and getting moving. My emotions were running really high (hence last weeks post).

However, the two rest days at the weekend are really restorative and I was up at 5:40am this morning looking forward to my run (well, my walk/run) and it went beautifully – the morning was warm, I felt really fit and strong, and ran for longer than I have at any point so far. The endorphins kicked in properly and I was bouncing when I got home. It feels awesome to be 24 weeks pregnant and still so mobile – and getting stronger. Really awesome.

Food-wise, I finally got my head down and planned a weeks worth of food and did a proper weekly shop at the weekend. We’ve been eating freezer stuff and takeaways for the last few weeks, and I really needed to get on top of cooking and dinners. I feel so much better for having a meal plan taped to the fridge, even if it’s just simple dinners for all of us that aren’t massively health conscious. One step at a time. Green smoothies are hopefully on the horizon…

I think there’s a great deal of emotional relief at having reached 24 weeks. If I suddenly go into labour, I just have to get to the hospital and it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the end. I’m just a mere 16 weeks away from the big day (16 WEEKS!!!!). I’m loving being home with the boys over the summer, and also really looking forward to them starting school so I can get down to the serious business of clearing aside all the mental clutter I have surrounding the birth (all on hold for now ;-).

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