The SPD continues to niggle but although it is definately worse by the end of the working week, doing not very much (for which read nothing) at the weekend has certainly proven to recharge my creaking pelvis so far. Do feel very bad that husband isn't really getting me at my best. Have promised to make it up to him this long weekend (unless of course the Chancellor has bank hols and privilege days in his cutting sights too).
On a lighter note am both excited and slightly concerned to learn that the baby can now (at 21 weeks) hear what's going on around us (me and them, natch). I love my colleagues but some are more than slightly mad - what if office banter becomes the baby's barometer for normal conversation? The office is where I spend the majority of my week and topics of discussion range from the ridiculous to the sublime spanning murmer bears, cabinet agendas, button moon and the budget. Such chit chat is often delivered in a Russian, Irish or Roger Federer accent, with the occassional lunge thrown in for good measure*. Also, as a Civil Servant does my agreeing to Official Secrets Act implicitly mean baby agrees too? Fingers crossed they don't have the early capacity for speech that Stewie does (Family Guy evil and devious baby). Am I already turning into a worry wart mother? Argh!
*to stress: I am not, nor (now) with spd, will I ever a lunger be.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Sunday, 23 May 2010
The Naming of Sisters
As T S Elliot found with cats, so I am finding with sisters - it is a difficult thing to know what to call one's siblings in the blogosphere. In part this is a problem of my own making (although I think I will also hold my parents a little responsible for blessing me with quite so many sisters)
That said, Little Sis is the youngest, so I am leaving her as that. Plus you, dear reader, have already met her. It would just be confusing to change her name now. Two others are also quite straightforwardly re-christened: PC Sister (when she becomes Detective Constable I shall seemlessly upgrade her to DC Sister) and Scientist Sister. That only leaves Market Research Sister. However, given she isn't that fond of her trade, it doesn't seem kind to label her by it. Heir apparent (to the Grand Title of Eldest Sister) seems a little morbid. So I have settled on London Sister. She lives in London, she is my sister: like Ronseal, it does what is says on the tin. Phew - heaven help us in 19 weeks when we have to name a baby!
Not content with creating Naming-Gate, I have also unwittingly started the less catchy but definately more politically sensitive I-Didnt-Get-A-Mention-Gate. I hope this entry has laid that to to rest - a whole post devoted to My Sisters. Parentals - your time will come. Plus the less controversial labels of Marmee and Dad will stand you in good stead over the coming posts.
That said, Little Sis is the youngest, so I am leaving her as that. Plus you, dear reader, have already met her. It would just be confusing to change her name now. Two others are also quite straightforwardly re-christened: PC Sister (when she becomes Detective Constable I shall seemlessly upgrade her to DC Sister) and Scientist Sister. That only leaves Market Research Sister. However, given she isn't that fond of her trade, it doesn't seem kind to label her by it. Heir apparent (to the Grand Title of Eldest Sister) seems a little morbid. So I have settled on London Sister. She lives in London, she is my sister: like Ronseal, it does what is says on the tin. Phew - heaven help us in 19 weeks when we have to name a baby!
Not content with creating Naming-Gate, I have also unwittingly started the less catchy but definately more politically sensitive I-Didnt-Get-A-Mention-Gate. I hope this entry has laid that to to rest - a whole post devoted to My Sisters. Parentals - your time will come. Plus the less controversial labels of Marmee and Dad will stand you in good stead over the coming posts.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
The Diagnosis
For the past few weeks I had been ignoring the dull pain in the left hand side of my pelvic area, putting it down to general pregnancy growing pains. Then last Saturday my youngest, but often wisest, sister whilst listening to my whinging said 'that's SPD'. She wasn't the first. My colleague had also adopted a concerned face earlier in the week when I was having a little moan and winced 'ooo, that sounds like SPD to me'. Both are mothers. Both had difficult (for difficult read extremely painful) pregnancies. Both recognised the early signs.
On Monday I went to the doctors where I was diagnosed with suspected SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction). This is when the ligaments in the pelvic girdle loosen too much. At the moment all I have is a dull pain, the occasional clicking of bones and a new ridiculous way of walking (think the inverse of John Cleese). I may be lucky and this will be as bad as it gets. However I could end up like Little Sis, unable to walk without the aid of crutches. I am learning quickly that preventative measures are a good thing. Hence the daft walk, the ironing and hoovering ban, the legs together - never crossed - approach to sitting and standing and the getting dressed whilst perched on the edge of the bed.
I am lucky that I can modify my life like this. There's only me to think about - I don't have any other kiddlywinks clambering all over me. I have a devoted husband who is now not only my Chef but also my Housekeeper, Driver and general emotional crutch. My family and friends are offering to trek from all over the city to visit me. My colleagues, whilst finding it amusing to race me to the printer, are extremely supportive and helpful - they pick up what I drop, they make me drinks, they volunteer to get my lunch. I feel guilty as they have many better things to do and a much more important person to look after than me. However, even our new Minister offered to wheel me out from his office on a chair.
I am also lucky because I am finally going to be a Marmee. Me. This is something I've always wanted to be. A longing from within. A twelve year dream of Baby Griffith. And it is this that makes my pesky temporary disability pale into insignificance. And it is for Baby G that I will sit on my bottom for the next twenty weeks, blogging and learning to knit.
On Monday I went to the doctors where I was diagnosed with suspected SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction). This is when the ligaments in the pelvic girdle loosen too much. At the moment all I have is a dull pain, the occasional clicking of bones and a new ridiculous way of walking (think the inverse of John Cleese). I may be lucky and this will be as bad as it gets. However I could end up like Little Sis, unable to walk without the aid of crutches. I am learning quickly that preventative measures are a good thing. Hence the daft walk, the ironing and hoovering ban, the legs together - never crossed - approach to sitting and standing and the getting dressed whilst perched on the edge of the bed.
I am lucky that I can modify my life like this. There's only me to think about - I don't have any other kiddlywinks clambering all over me. I have a devoted husband who is now not only my Chef but also my Housekeeper, Driver and general emotional crutch. My family and friends are offering to trek from all over the city to visit me. My colleagues, whilst finding it amusing to race me to the printer, are extremely supportive and helpful - they pick up what I drop, they make me drinks, they volunteer to get my lunch. I feel guilty as they have many better things to do and a much more important person to look after than me. However, even our new Minister offered to wheel me out from his office on a chair.
I am also lucky because I am finally going to be a Marmee. Me. This is something I've always wanted to be. A longing from within. A twelve year dream of Baby Griffith. And it is this that makes my pesky temporary disability pale into insignificance. And it is for Baby G that I will sit on my bottom for the next twenty weeks, blogging and learning to knit.
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