The pillow fight...

For the past couple of weeks, every now and then I've been experiencing a shooting pain in the very base of my back - around my coccyx when I stand up or bend funny. A bit like there's a trapped nerve, but there's not. I've discovered this phenomenon is yet another tribulation many pregnant ladies have to put up with, and it goes by the rather delightful name of PGP (pelvic girdle pain). Joy. The midwife helpfully says there's not much you can do about it - rest, don't strain, have baths and try some pelvic exercises when it doesn't hurt. But it should disappear after the birth. Comforting thought, only five more months to go.

One thing that may make a difference and alleviate the back pain a bit, she suggested, is adjusting my sleeping position. I had been doing this unconsciously anyway - in the mornings I've often found I'm curled up at an odd angle on my side and seem to have pushed The Other Half so far out of the bed he's ended up in the spare room. I think he may need his own bed permanently, now. There are now NINE cushions propped around me when I sleep like a wall of padding. Two supporting my back when I'm lying on my side, two between my knees to support my pelvis, two on my other side wedged under the bump, two on top of my pillows to make my weird sleeping angle more bearable, and one under my elbow, just because. You can't move for cushions. But it does seem to be helping.

Well, it's helping me. I'm not so sure about it helping The Other Half. He seems to have settled for the bum end of the deal - on the nights he can see enough space to sleep, he has to strategically climb into bed and take whatever room he can claw back. That's if the cat hasn't stolen his spot completely, though. She likes the cushions. On such nights, he's relegated to the spare bed. And I would feel really bad about this but it's hard not to be pleased when my back hasn't hurt for the first time in three weeks.

Sweet dreams are made of this...

This morning I woke up in a cold sweat, and when coupled with a feeling of complete and utter blind panic - that's not such a good way to start the day. I was reading an article online not so long ago that said pregnancy can make your dreams incredibly vivid. 'Ooh,' I thought. 'I haven't been dreaming much recently that I can remember. Wonder if it'll happen to me?' Haha, yes it did. I felt sick when I woke up. And proceeded to shout at my poor, unsuspecting Other Half. Cue Wayne's World's Scooby Doo dream sequence, and I'll take you inside my dream...

I was about seven months pregnant, it was a weekend (I know this because the Grand Prix was on the TV) and I was getting ready to hop into the bath. The house was as it is now, i.e. no nursery set up, no pram on order, no pile of Allen keys from flat pack baby furniture. While in the bath and thinking that we really should get a move on and start to sort out what we'll need in time for the new arrival, I went into labour early. And it was a remarkably quick labour, even for dream standards. (Let's just hope the real one is as quick and easy.) No matter how many times I shouted for The Other Half to phone the midwife, or the hospital, or anyone - he kept saying he'd do it after he'd seen the Grand Prix. Anyway, I had the baby in the bath and woke up still screaming for The Other Half to phone the midwife.

Literally. I think I may have whacked him with a cushion in my panic and yelled 'WHEN I SAY PHONE THE MIDWIFE, YOU PHONE THE MIDWIFE - OKAY?!' To which he woke up startled and mumbled something I couldn't hear (but it was probably something about me being a crazy, hormonal raging pot of fury) and looked at me with fear as I ran for paper and a pen to make a list of essentials for the baby. 'In case I have the baby early in the bath,' I explained. 'And we don't even have anything - the only thing we do have is one solitary baby grow hanging in the wardrobe. We must have a list!!'

And a list we have. It seems to have alleviated my panic, for now.

Oh, that looks like a nice book...

I recently reported about my abhorrent lack of sleep. Well, it's driven me to edge. Not by the way of Class A drugs or anything - but by the way of literature. I'm absolutely devouring books. For the most part it's working - frivolous tales and the odd re-read of a Stephen King or something are helping to take my mind off things and send me off into the Land of Nod gently. Or it was working, until I picked up Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones. Christ on a bike. I wasn't expecting that. Talk about devastation.

I won't give the plot away (what I'm about to tell you is in the blurb anyway), but it's about a young girl who was murdered, and she is telling her story from heaven while watching the destructive effects this has on her family as the years go by. I don't think I've ever been so completely captivated by a book. My Other Half actually woke up and came to see what was wrong as I was so inconsolable halfway through reading. I put myself to sleep with a headache from crying, I was so bad. But after discussing this little novel at work, I was glad to discover that I wasn't the only emotional wet sponge to be completely floored by this book.

And apparently, the film is due out next year. Great. I think perhaps I'll wait for the DVD to come out so at least if my face dissolves into my popcorn, it'll be in the privacy of my own front room. My friends will agree with me that none of us want a repeat of what became known as The 'Titanic' Incident. (My 15 year-old self was taken under protest to the flicks to see this crime against cinema by mates who loved Leo. While I'd love to say I wept over the shocking state of the script, I'm ashamed to admit that I sobbed so uncontrollably as the Strauss couple prepared to drown that my mascara streaked onto my t-shirt so I resembled a zebra, and a woman I didn't know came over and asked if I was alright when I started to hyperventilate.)

I've never had any poise when it comes to tears.

I can't get no sleep...

What do you do if you can't sleep? It's the worst thing ever - you're tired and know you need to nod off soon otherwise your head will be hitting your desk leaving keyboard imprints on your cheeks come 10am the next morning - but you just CAN'T. Your body is betraying you out of spite and your mind won't wind down. I've had this problem for the last few nights now. My normal pumpkin hour is between 10 and 11pm. I know that if I'm not trying to get to sleep by 11 on a school night, I'm screwed. And yet there I am, bolt upright in bed at 1,2,3 in the morning onwards with my mind whirring. And I know exactly what's keeping me awake. Work.

Was it Margaret Thatcher who said she only needed 4 hours sleep per night? Nuts to that, missus. I can't function on anything less than seven - and that's just it, I haven't been functioning. It's felt like I'm just sort of, well, existing. Gone are the reckless days of uni when I could easily manage an all-nighter writing an essay or crawl home in the small hours only to face a full day of lectures (except for the time when I'd had one too many nocturnal sessions and fell asleep with my head in my hands during a lecture - only to fall off the bench with a thud when my elbow slipped off the desk). I've tried hot drinks, caffeine-free drinks, exercising at least three hours before bedtime, music, reading, writing...but I just can't shut my eyes because I'm worrying over work.

I don't like talking about work in too much detail here (you never know who is reading and all that), but it's visibly stressing me out. So I'll try to fill you in without the particulars. You see, there's a vacancy coming up in my department which my superiors have made clear they want me to go for. Which is great. But the more I think about it, the more I know that it's not the right job for me. It's at a higher level, but the money isn't much more than what I'm on now. The money's not the main issue though. It's the role itself. I'd be taking on things I'm not ready to take on, and giving up things I fought hard to get and I'm not ready to give up. I don't want my managers to think I'm not ambitious or have desires to move on elsewhere instead, though, because I don't. I do like my job. I'm still learning things everyday. But my head is saying that opportunities in my field don't come along very often, and my heart is saying I have to think about all the peripheral politics, too, (there are several issues I'm not going to go into now) and to trust my instincts. Sigh. You can see my dilemma, I hope.

And the more I think about it, the more I don't know what to do. I hope I know soon, though. Otherwise I can feel an overdose of Ovaltine or something equally vile coming along.

The Fairytale of New York...

Afternoon all, I’m back from my travels and suffering! Not only are my poor worn out soles recovering from marathon Manhattan walking sessions, I’ve rediscovered that jet lag is not a pleasant thing (my good self and lack of sleep do not mix well, as The Other Half will testify vehemently). Yesterday was my first day back at work, which ordinarily is a dire thing anyway but after only 4 hours sleep (when my head is still five hours behind laughing at me and my body feels like it’s somewhere over the Atlantic in protest) and contending with what may or may not have been carried out from my handover list, it’s really badly rubbish.

It was all worth it though. New York was fantastic and we managed to get through so much I don’t even know where to begin. Since we’d been before we skipped a lot of the mega-touristy things like the Statue of Liberty and going up the Empire State building – but still indulged our sightseeing sides and donned our visitor hats with gusto admiring the views from the Top of the Rock and tracking down as many movie locations as we could find. I’d forgotten that the whole city is like a giant film set – every corner you turn you see something you recognise. Hence I spent pretty much the entire time saying things like ‘Ooh, that was in Ghostbusters/Home Alone 2/Enchanted/insert your favourite New York-set flick here’ and embarrassed myself by acting out scenes. Acting which, I might add, The Other Half often participated in. He makes a very good Dr. Venkman.

Anyway, I’m finding my eyelids very heavy today and I’m wishing that my chair was made of fleecy blankets and that my desk comprised of soft pillows instead of piles of post-its, manky coffee cups and the remnants of Hershey Kisses wrappers (the standard office fare whenever anyone has been Stateside). More reporting on the Big Apple adventures later – busy counting down the hours until I can go to bed!

Maybe after a repeat viewing of Crocodile Dundee though?