Silly Sausage

I love staying at nice hotels & indulging in the mammoth, buffet style breakfast they offer. I never understood those sensible guests who begin grazing on cereal, fruit & nuts as starters. Far too civilised. I sprint past the yogurt selection grabbing the biggest platter I can & load up with all the hot delights. Eggs? You betcha. Scrambled, fried, damn it, give me a poached one too. It will sit pretty next to my bacon, hash brown & 3 varieties of toast. I eye off danishes & pastries before I even begin chomping my first grilled tomato...."I'll be back for you...." I coo to the shiny, iced cinnamon scroll. Ooooh, the juices! How many thimble sized glasses can I carry back to the table? One of each! (This is making me hungry by the way) Coffee! Tea!........fruit & cereal last, if there's room. My favourite morsel is the tiny pork sausage. Barely 2 bites in each & oozing dodginess. Yum. Yum.
The only time I dislike tiny, plump pork sausages is when I glance down at my right foot & realise that my 5 toes look scarily similar to sausages & a cankle has replaced my usual slender heel.
Hello swelling. Aren't you pretty? I am slowly ticking off all the common pregnancy ailments & boy, 3rd trimester has some originality. Going to the toilet used to be a mild inconvenience. Now it is an activity I have named "Arse Roulette". Will I poo? Will I just fart? Constipation or Mount Vesuvius? And so frequently....I'm glad we installed that 3rd toilet. It's nice to have a change of scenery each time. As I sat on the toilet yesterday I wondered if I have a haemorrhoid? Probably three. I looked down at my sausage toes & began to ask Jesus for assistance....when out of the blue a foot cramp gripped my meaty trotter with such force I nearly cried. My toes splayed out in a rigid contortion, looking alot like Mork's Nan-Noo handshake. I knew I should reach down & stretch them...easier said than done when nearly 30 weeks pregnant & already ensconced in a game of Arse Roulette.
I knew Jesus hated me. Or at least had a very strange sense of humour.

My nausea has quietened. I have stopped taking my iron (as suggested by Dr J) and it seems to be working. I see the urologist next month regarding my kidneys. For now, I am better. Well, better in the Vomit Zone at least! And! I passed my 2 hour GB tolerance test! Maybe Jesus does dig me afterall?
;)

Bleh. Twice.

A quick post.
I am unwell. My afternoon sickness has morphed into all day & all night sickness. I am vomiting alot. After every meal. In fact, before every meal. My kidneys are playing up. Ultrasound reveals they are not draining well, which causes considerable pain. So, I am drugged up, laid out & counting the days. I also had my 2 hour GB tolerance test this week. I don't know the results yet.
Yuck.
OB/Gyn on Friday.
Hope everyone is faring well xx

The Ho Ho Ho

I am off to a fancy dress party tonight. My beloved SIL is turning 30.....it should be a riot. What, exactly can a nearly 7 month pregnant Boom-bah go dressed as?

What else? ......Santa! No padding needed.

Here I am with Batgirl & Witchy-poo.

FUN!

*************************
On a side note, did anyone else find it troubling that Pope Benny gave the Europeans a thorough tutt-tutting because they were NOT having enough children? Too selfish, apparently. I thought this was a wildly hypocritical comment from a celibate chap who denounces IVF. That little caped crusader should read more IF blogs. Or change some of his beliefs.

Renewed.

I received a renewal notice this week for my drivers licence. A standard annual event....but this year, beautifully different.
I recalled blogging about this very subject last year. I had always used this anniversary as a milestone of sorts. September had arrived again. Another infertile year had been endured. How many September's would I stumble through still not pregnant? Would I survive another year waiting for my miracle baby?

I lamented. (it's the post from last year if you are interested)

It will be a genuine watershed moment. I will be renewing my 2007 drivers licence during my 27th week of pregnancy.

Nobody else will notice. Not the bored, waiting customers. Not the bitch behind the counter. Nor the nervous P-Plater. But I will know. And even if I walk away with the most hideous, unflattering, cross eyed photo on my licence this year, nothing will veil the glorious, dazzling beauty underneath my cotton blend blouse.

Enough Ewww for Two.

I'm usually not a TMI kind of girl. But to hell if I'll keep this one to myself.
My boobs.
My boobs are grand at the mo'. They are so spectacularly veiny that I am entranced each morning by their reflection. "Something is REALLY happening in Boobville" I thought just yesterday. I had to give them a little honk. And that's when the wonder of it all became a reality hit. The action of squeezing them gave me my first introduction to colostrum. And I near fainted. I really didn't know that would happen 99 days out from Hef's due date. My god!
I ran from the bathroom to track down my unsuspecting husband.....wheezing to him "My boobs have got milk...."
"Ewwww" he said.
"I KNOW!" I squealed. We are so prepared to be parents.

I will honk no more.