A treatise on home living while heavily pregnant and pelvically pained
I have been on Annual Leave, pending maternity leave, for the last two weeks. It has been mostly excellent, considering The State Of The Pelvis, and in fact all the rest allowed me to recover sufficiently to even brave A Trip To Brent Cross last week for essentials (new underwear, socks and summer pj's for M, a summery maternity dress for me, and two new tablecloths for the house*)
On the other hand, being housebound comes with drawbacks. Like the proximity of internet and a bank card, and one's sudden gullibility in the face of enticing emails from Anthropologie about Astronomical Sales! which leads one to deposit the £s virtuously destined for one's savings account into internet shopping ether instead. What's more, for undeniably beautiful clothes that are unlikely to even fit for another three months. Or not even then, unless I find a way to stop myself from eating so much, my God.
I'm a snacker. Particularly when I'm anxious and bored, and preparing for exams that will decidde my future career, while housebound, has given me plenty of both. Thanks to my inability to walk and lack of shops near work popping out for snacks wasn't an option. I ate what I prepared and that was it.
But in the house, within waddling distance of the fridge, the whole thing is much harder. And paradoxically, while I appear to be happy to munch on apricots and slices of cheddar I appear to have no enthusiasm for the production of healthy, balanced meals for my family. (I do it, but I have grown disenchated with cooking).
On the other hand, being able to relegate my studying to the daytime hours has meant that I have also been able to indulge my passion for reading, and pottering around on the internet. And if adventures of Brtish Mummy Bloggers have an appeal for you, then check out this month's BMB Carnival over at Angels and Urchins . Lots of posts about summer, and one from me, about ghosts of lost boys past.
* I feel that since I'm on house arrest until the birth, more or less, I should at least be looking at beautiful things. This is true, and the tableclothes lifted my mood considerably until M spilled some olive oil on them. I'm not sure whether this means I shouldn't be allowed to have children, or nice things.
On the other hand, being housebound comes with drawbacks. Like the proximity of internet and a bank card, and one's sudden gullibility in the face of enticing emails from Anthropologie about Astronomical Sales! which leads one to deposit the £s virtuously destined for one's savings account into internet shopping ether instead. What's more, for undeniably beautiful clothes that are unlikely to even fit for another three months. Or not even then, unless I find a way to stop myself from eating so much, my God.
I'm a snacker. Particularly when I'm anxious and bored, and preparing for exams that will decidde my future career, while housebound, has given me plenty of both. Thanks to my inability to walk and lack of shops near work popping out for snacks wasn't an option. I ate what I prepared and that was it.
But in the house, within waddling distance of the fridge, the whole thing is much harder. And paradoxically, while I appear to be happy to munch on apricots and slices of cheddar I appear to have no enthusiasm for the production of healthy, balanced meals for my family. (I do it, but I have grown disenchated with cooking).
On the other hand, being able to relegate my studying to the daytime hours has meant that I have also been able to indulge my passion for reading, and pottering around on the internet. And if adventures of Brtish Mummy Bloggers have an appeal for you, then check out this month's BMB Carnival over at Angels and Urchins . Lots of posts about summer, and one from me, about ghosts of lost boys past.
* I feel that since I'm on house arrest until the birth, more or less, I should at least be looking at beautiful things. This is true, and the tableclothes lifted my mood considerably until M spilled some olive oil on them. I'm not sure whether this means I shouldn't be allowed to have children, or nice things.