Run a marathon while pregnant?

25 weeks

They call it RLS for short. Its long form sums up the disorder nicely – Restless Leg Syndrome.

Curiously – and somewhat annoyingly – it only happens at night. Your legs take on a life of their own and insist on moving every few seconds. At best you become fidgety, at worst you have to get up, but get this – it is not generally helped by moving, stretching, or going for a walk. In other words, there's not much you can do about it. Sometimes you fall asleep with it, but then your bed partner suffers night-time spousal abuse by being continuously kicked and woken in the night.

There's talk of a link between it and your diet but who's got the time to do a laborious food and restless-leg-syndrome diary every day for three weeks to see if there is any truth in the matter? It's one of those we-know-it-happens-to-pregnant-women-but-we-haven't-a-clue-why type things. Still, it's not all bad. I must be using up loads of calories, right? I mean, when it gets really bad I practically run a marathon in my sleep.

This morning, I was fast asleep when RLS reared its ugly head – a violent kick of my left leg ensued which woke me. Alas, I wasn't the only victim. Oscar, the cat, had little inkling when he curled up on my leg to sleep that night that he was in grave mortal danger. All I heard was a "miiiaaaooow!" as the poor thing got propelled across the room... Oops.

Hormones on the Loose

24 weeks

We have finally landed back in Blighty after a gruelling 13 hour journey – it has taken BabyG and me two full days to recover. Spent a blissful week with husband before waving him off to his new job on Monday morning. I'm back at Mum and Dad's and husband is staying the week at accommodation provided by the new job. We will reunite Friday, and at some point, go househunting to find ourselves a rented property.

In his absence, I have noticed something rather quirky. Those of you who have read previous posts know that I have been prone to hormonal mood swings during the pregnancy. I've actually got off quite lightly, IMHO, (although husband, I-grew-up-in-a-mostly-male-household-even-the-cat-is-a-bloke-so-haven't-a-clue-how-to-deal-with-hormones, may beg to differ). Anyway, I have noticed that whenever BabyG's father is absent I get a surge of hormones. I went away one weekend for a much looked forward to girlie weekend, and all I could think about was flying back into his arms.
After 12 hours of his most recent absence I say "I miss you" longingly down the phone. ("What, Already?" says husband); after 36 hours my bottom lip is quivering on a phone call and am having to resist the urge to say "Please, come home." And I think it's only going to get worse.

However, I think I have got to the bottom of it. The blame lays squarely at BabyG's feet. I think it's a primeval instinct from BabyG who knows that Daddy = provider = food + warmth + shelter (what he thinks Mummy's role is I'm not altogether sure. Mummy = nappy changer, I suppose). Upon not hearing Daddy's voice for a while, BabyG unleashes a surge of hormones in Mummy so great that she is bound to go find Daddy, bring him back and shackle him so that he does not disappear again. So Mummy pines for husband and is likely to be a gibbering wreck by the end of the week.

Daddy, as usual, remains unscathed by the whole affair.

Have stepped up the househunt.

I wonder who he takes after

23 weeks

I can tell my baby's personality and he's is not even out of the womb.
Let me explain.
BabyG is mischevious. I can feel him kicking, and so I hurriedly haul my husband's (or mother's/sister's/friend's) arm across, place their hand firmly on the site of the kicking and excitedly tell them that they are about to feel a kick.
So they wait, expectantly.
And I wait, expectantly.
And the clock ticks.
And we wait.
And as the seconds tick by I realise that I've made all this fuss, and precisely nothing is happening.
I shift slightly awkwardly in my seat. I am beginning to feel embarrassed.
BabyG meanwhile, can tell everything that is going on. After attracting attention through kicking in the first place, he leans back, places his arms behind his head and, with a wry smile, has absolutely no intention of kicking.
So I and husband/mother/sister/friend give up. I apologise and gabble: "he'll do it again soon, I'm sure!"
Then, as everyone gets back to what they were doing, BabyG languorously reaches his leg out and places a deft, carefully positioned foot and gives a good, firm kick.

Diet is "die" with a T

22 weeks

BabyG hasn't been so active these last few days.
Which of course has thrown me into a panic.
Have I been eating the wrong things? Have I been drinking enough water? Has that half glass of wine I had the other day had an adverse affect?
(The one thing I have learned quite early on in this pregnancy is that Motherhood = Permanent Guilt Trip.)
And, oh god, I read a story the other day about a woman who gave birth to a 15 pound baby (can you imagine), and apparently the baby was so big because the mother ate a high-sugar diet. And I've just realised that I've been eating a lot of biscuits recently. And the odd...er...chocolate bar. And yesterday I had a sticky toffee pudding.
Gulp.
Maybe BabyG isn't moving because HE IS TOO FAT

Blooming? Pah!

22 weeks

Thus far I have seriously doubted the 'blooming' phenomena that is supposed to accompany pregnancy. And here's why.
In the first three months, despite having escaped morning sickness, I still felt rough, and looked it too. Dark circles under the eyes, pale grey skin, the most awful wind and.. well, some things are best not sharing.
Now it's nearly three months on and I'm slightly less pale, but possibly only because I am now incredibly spotty. And I still have dark circles under the eyes. I keep reading about how I'm supposed to have glowing skin, luscious shiny hair, and be positively radiant. Er...

However, all is not lost! All my life I've had weak, brittle nails that split, bend and disappear at the mere whiff of nail varnish. All of a sudden I am blessed with the strongest, most gorgeous set of talons I've ever had! They're gorgeous, they're long, I can file them, buff them, gaze at them lovingly. And oh! The excitement of being able to wear nail varnish! I'll be able to show them off in Frosted Pink, Mailbox Red, Vintage Vamp Purple! Hurrah!

Oh. Hang on a minute. Still can't use the nail polish. Fumes not good for the baby.
Arse.

There's nothing quite like it

22 weeks

It's somewhere between the hours of 2 and 3am. It's deathly quiet. I am awake.
Why? Because for the last 10 minutes BabyG has been performing what I can only describe as acrobatic maneuvers. Apparently, given what size, shape and stage of development BabyG is at, there is still plenty of room in there.
Enough room for him to swing gaily from the umbilical cord from one side of my womb to the other going yee-ha!
When bored of this, I think he's doing handstands, perhaps alternating with the odd cartwheel.
And, darn it, he always knows when I'm talking about him because he will start making his presence felt, like he is right at this minute. Or maybe he's just going "hey, where's my breakfast?"
I'm loving it, because there's really nothing quite like it. It's really quite splendid to share the pre-dawn hours with someone, we're bonding, BabyG and me.
Though I have to admit, it does have a teeny weeny bit of an Alien feel to it....

I spoke too soon

21 weeks

Having recently rejoiced the end of the spotty teenager phase of my pregnancy, I awoke this morning to see my fifteen-year-old self staring back at me in the mirror.
Or should I say, my fifteen-year-old chin.
It's a good job that concealers have come such a long way since nineteen eighty-ahem.
However, no concealer works miracles, so I still feel acutely embarrassed because as a grown woman it looks like I just haven't bothered washing my face. This is made all the worse by the fact that I'm still in that "Is she pregnant or is she fat?" stage, so it's not immediately obvious that it's just my hormones in overdrive.
Oh well, it beats morning sickness.