“We found that for women, poor sleep is strongly associated with high levels of psychological distress, and greater feelings of hostility, depression and anger”

So basically I’m a biatch because I sleep like crap? I’ll buy that!

We shall kick off with a photo, now I is looking more pregnanty and less fat persony. Taken at Thames, where the mirror is cooler and does not reflect a huge box of books on the floor and a big pile of clothes and baby junk on a chair behind me. >.> No rude comments please.

I almost managed to get my leave forms sorted this week, except I didn’t. I need some certificate saying I’m not wearing a fake belly so I get a slight reprieve until then. Which I’m fine with, because I’m still not 100% sure when to take the leave and such. 14 weeks is SFA time really, and if I take leave too early and spawn arrives late, there’s less time at home with it before I need to get back to work.

I still haven’t had the talk with the boss guys yet either. I’m sure they’ll be very sweet and accommodating and so forth when it comes to hours and working from home etc, but I think I’ll feel a lot better once we get some agreement there. I can’t help but feel like a giant leech though. “HAI! I work here not long! Lemme stay homes, K?!”

Anyway, we asked Dad (who ‘works’ from home about 15 minutes away) if he’d be cool caring for the spawn a day a week or sommat like that. He wiped away a tear and said he’d be honoured, and we all had hugs and pie. Or no! That happened in the alternate reality where I’m not me and Dad’s not Dad. Instead he said he’d bring it to Thames, hook it up on a harness and wire contraption so it could entertain itself (with a flying fox dealy for sailing over “ravines and gullies”) and it could sleep in a cardboard box. Ohoho the hilarities!

I think we’ll manage. We’re just not at all keen on shoving the spawn into care 2 seconds after it’s born – not if I can in any way wrangle less impersonal arrangements (and yes, even if it means less $$$). Probably the outcome of having stay at home mothers ourselves.

I’m starting to feel a bit slack about not having like… nappies, and a cot, and bath shiz and all that good stuff that comes with spawning. After being asked a few times over the weekend what we had and if we were checking off a list, I figure we probably better get our As in G and get this stuff sorted before I get even more bloated and irascible. So Iunno. Maybe this weekend I’ll start looking into stuff other than adorable tiny clothings.

Parents are useful though! Continuing the documenting of stuff people have contributed to the spawn pile this week (I have to do this or I’ll forget who and when):

The torture-device looking baby carrier is courtesy of mother. We had untold fun trying to figure out how the internal paddingy bits work, and what all the domes are for. In the end I shoved the bear in because APPARENTLY I’m not allowed to test it on the cats. Unreasonable. It’s a… Evenflo something doodah.

Giraffe is from Diane. It rattles! Rattling I’m generally OK with. Anyone gives me anything that squeaks or bangs or whistles, we shall have words.

I’m fine, just heartburny and tired and starting to pant like a seriously out of shape person on embarrassingly easy walks. Spawn is wiggling like a mofo currently and I wish my lappytop would hurry up so I can decamp to the couch or the bed, or something where I can get more comfortable and not be kicked around for daring to sit for more than 10 minutes.

But since I have finished this now, I can go lie down and quiet the internal protests. Early this week. Woohoo!

OK, when I was younger (so much younger than today), my best friend was Deborah. She collected these comics, which I read on occasion – mostly because I can’t NOT read something. Even in the shower I end up re-re-re-reading the backs of the shampoo bottles. In any case, they didn’t suck, although even then I was of the opinion that TREESTUMP wasn’t the height of ethereal awesomeness when it came to elf names. I believe some mocking and ridiculing took place.

So imagine my insane giggling when I found out apparently they’re all going to be made available online for frees. I am thinking perhaps I’ll revisit and see if I can relive some childhood stuff and junk. I heartily approve of people making their work more accessible to the masses, especially when it sends me into sad person reminiscing mode.

This Easter weekend happened to coincide with Sam’s rostered weekend off, so we got to go away. Yay! And where do we go? Why, Thames of course. We headed over Friday morning and ended up going the scenic route due to dire motorway traffic. It was cool actually – we went through a whole lot of new places I’d never been before, and it was all very picturesque. We passed through Clevedon (about an hour before there was an horrendous accident there), Kawakawa Bay, Kaiaua and Miranda, which previously I had only seen as signposts on the usual boring way to Thames. Highlights included really windy-ass roads, ducks crossing the road, a bunch of swans, hippy caravan communities and dad’s amazingly bad rock-throwing aim. Also, we had icecream. I completely failed to take pictures of any of this, but picture like… NZ coastal / farm / bush scenery and you’re 90% there. Seabird Coast anyone?

Even though Friday and Saturday were beautiful, we didn’t end up going down to the beach. Because SOME fatty mcfatterson would probably have had a coronary trying to get back up the hill. This compressed lungs thing ain’t so fun. We did pootle about in the forest for a bit, but the weekend mainly featured reading and naps and general laziness. See?

I am a lost cause though. I can’t relax (or sleep) with the cats around because they are precious attention-demanding spoiled little cretins, but I can’t relax (or sleep) when they’re not around because I’m apparently retarded. So despite having a relaxing long weekend I am still incredibly tired. Oh wells. Dad and Diane were industrious little bees however, dedicating the weekend to the production of lavender oil. Since I personally didn’t do anything exciting, here’s a little photolog of their endeavours.

Behold, lavenders. A teeny bit past it maybe, but all good.

Behold, worker bees. In theory I could have helped here, but they were kinda cute and cottagey industry-y about it and I didn’t want to mess up the vibe. Maybe next summer when they’re in full and scary production mode. I did my bit by saving a mantis from getting turned into oil, so I still get to go to heaven.

Dad made a still. It’s still a still. Still a still still actually, since it doesn’t move while in use. Ohoho, the humours.

Yes, it is a pressure cooker with random pipes and tubing attached. I don’t think he’d be nearly as happy with an off the shelf purpose-built contraption he didn’t get to tinker together himself.

Lavenders go in. MOOSH MOOSH.

Behold, pristine laboratory setup. Featuring dad’s very sweet coffee machine, which Sam covets.

We have oil! It was a very exciting moment. There was glee. And hydrosol, which is not as exciting as oil, but far more plentiful and apparently good for spraying on your sheets as you’re ironing them. Because you do iron your sheets, don’t you?

See? Glee! Who’s a proud daddy? The weekend ended with about 100ml of oil and many many bottles of smel… scented water. I dare say we shall see a fair bit more of this carry-on in months to come! It was actually fascinating to watch though; speaking as someone who grows lavender primarily so she’ll have something to swear at every few weeks when it takes over the path. Can’t wait to see the post-oil creations!

Fin! Must be time for a nap…

Last minute as usual and my eyes are killing me. Luckily there’s stuff on TV so I don’t have to entertain myself at the computron all night. Hooray.

This week mother did the grandmotherly thing and bought us a buggy / stroller / pushchair / whatever. I haven’t seen it yet (itsa one of these looking things apparently), but since my list of requirements was “it has to be maneuverable”, I probably can’t be too fussy. Reviews for it… well, I tend to overdo the review thing, so we’ll wait and see. And possibly test on the cats.

Amusingly, mother was getting all clucky over prams and capsules and stuff (meanwhile Karen is all ‘does it have a coffee-holder?’) . I never pictured her as particularly grandmotherly – she’s not a stereotypical mother either – but I think she’ll do it well. The spawn will have more grandmothers than it knows what to do with actually: three from my side and one from Sam’s. Which is a pretty awesome accomplishment, considering some people never even know one. Like Sam! He’s making up for it now though; he loves my Gramma and she spoils him rotten. Everyone knows who the favourite is!

I am KEEPING WELL. Like cheese. Alien is wiggly, although I am discovering that is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it’s untold fun watching your belly writhe and pulsate, but a curse because when it has a quiet day, you start to worry about the lack of pulsation. And I tend towards more quiet times, since the placenta is kind of in the way of more obvious wrigglage. I am possibly guilty of occasional belly-pokage to see if I can get a response.

Oh, and 24 weeks is kind of a milestone. Should the alien decide to hatch now, intervention is likely, and its chances of survival start at 60%. Of course this won’t be happening. STAY.