From 60 to 0 in 30 weeks

Having had a low risk, easy ride pretty much all the way through my pregnancy, I had to hit a wall of some description somewhere along the line. The sacrifice has been my mobility - and consequently a certain degree of independence.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not stuck in a chair/bed in bed rest unable even to scratch my own arse. That would be horrible. No, but since our lovely little trip to Dorset (with the associated crippling sciatica) I have had to downgrade my movements and expectations dramatically. It seemed to happen virtually overnight - in Dorset I managed a cliff-path walk of two miles in each direction. Granted I was more than a little bit rubbish the following day, but a couple of miles of gently meandering was in no way off the table.

Now, however, I have slowed right down - it takes me about double the time to get anywhere and in the last few weeks of work the really quite short walks to and from my bus to work (normally taking about five minutes) were taking longer and longer and actually leaving me genuinely knackered by the time I got to my destination. At about the same time, I realised that my wedding and engagement rings were actually cutting into my fingers and rubbing my skin away, and that my puffy feet and ankles were no longer just making an appearance on hot days when I had been on my feet for some time - they were there all the time. They are actually quite comical, although it is very disconcerting.

So, things have to be adjusted accordingly. I walked to my last appointment at the doctors - granted it took me 35 minutes, but I did it. It will have to be the bus next time. I was hoping to pop along to a 'bumps to babies' class which is about two miles away (with no sensible bus route) - I just don't think I can manage the walk, even if I leave plenty of time.

I worked my last day on Friday (and slipped in a cheeky festival in the weekend - firmly attached to my chair at all times and sending the other half off regularly to fill up my water bottle and go in search of sustenance) and now have what could be one week and could be closer to six before the little'un makes an appearance - and am going to be virtually housebound in the interim. I will post some thoughts on maternity leave v shortly.

Taking into account what I've already said, I need to keep mobile and active as much as possible, so I shall be trying to get out of the house every single day - even if only to waddle up the road to the park, round it once and then back home again.

Whale in a bag

The first time my husband saw the baby rippling, wave-like across my belly, he was completely engrossed and said it was just like a whale in a bag. I don't know what his frame of reference is because I am fairly sure he has never seen a whale in a bag (or, indeed, a whale at all on anything other than Blue Planet) and big though I am these days, I am hardly comparable to the biggest living mammal.

I have somewhere in the region of six weeks to go, and we are in the throes of what seems to be the longest British heatwave in memory. Generally speaking, I love the sun - sitting and reading, playing frisbee, swimming, beach, walking, lalala. But it's all a bit harder at the moment. I'm not going to whinge because I'm still having a much happier and easier pregnancy than an awful lot of people, but it seems rather unfair that I can't sit out in the sun to enjoy my breakfast without disintegrating into a sweating heap of lard, so dank with moisture that my heels left little perspiration marks on the decking.Yes, that's right my HEELS. I was also the comedy character of the office yesterday when it was noticed that my ankles had swollen up to about three times their usual size, despite, the fact I had been industrially putting them up on a box under my desk and swilling gallons of water. At home, I intersperse putting my feet up on a rocking chair (surprisingly soothing) with sticking them in a bucket of cold water. I have also been eating more fruit than I would have deemed humanly possible. I went into ecstasies yesterday when I discovered that all the strawberries had been reduced to 60p (allegedly once they were on sale for £3.99) and I immediately bought three punnets. Mmmm. The health-giving effects of eating a whole punnet in one sitting were probably counter-acted by the fact that I ate two doughnuts and a bagel while walking to the car, though.

All is going well at the moment - my 34 week appointment showed that the fundal height remains bang on, blood pressure is still good, and they are still looking at me as low risk. Filling that urine sample pot they give me every time was a bit of a challenge though in terms of, er, getting it in the right place to catch the optimum flow. It's not so easy twisting these days. My sample was rather paltry but fortunately they didn't comment. The delightful subject of perineal massage was also broached at this appointment. My response was rather along the lines of mmmm, yes I'll read the leaflet. I have read about this. I can see the logic. The attraction, however, escapes me. And bearing in mind it took me a full stream of piss to manoeuvre a millimetre of urine into my sample bottle, I somehow suspect that even if I was eager to give it a try it would almost certainly end up with me falling over/off the bed/putting my back out twisting into a weird position. So we'll just leave that one methinks.

There is so much advice and opinion out there. While I have luckily escaped a lot of the annoying talking to that pregnant women get because I don't really have many friends with babies, there is a lot of conflicting information. For example, for my swelling ankles, I am advised to elevate my feet above my heart. But at the same time, I am now being told that to encourage the baby to get into the optimum position, I should be leaning forward where possible with my hips raised above my knees. I see no way that these two things can be done at once, although I did have one slightly amusing image of me with my legs lifted up and apart to sort of head height and me leaning bump forwards through the gap. Somehow I don't think this is what they had in mind. And also, in terms of sleeping - for some reason one should definitely be trying to lie on your left side again to encourage optimum baby positioning. But some of the other books say that many women find the only way they can sleep at all is propped up on their backs. It's beyond me.

I think I shall continue taking this all as I take most things - in my stride. I'll do a fair bit of reading (that being the kind of person I am), talk to some of the people who should have a trustworthy opinion, then make up my own mind. And continue eating lots of strawberries.

Women - know your limits

I was always mildly amused by the Harry Enfield sketch about women and their limits, I particularly liked the bit where the man's brain filled up with information in an orderly fashion while the lady's brain was more like a child scribbling.

It is not, however, those kinds of limits to which I am referring. I am finding it really rather difficult to modulate my activity level to one appropriate to a heavily pregnant whale - sorry, woman. With regret, I have stopped cycling. I even hung up my dancing shoes because the last salsa session I had left me so exhausted I could barely get out of bed the following morning - and my bump has got sufficiently big that there would always be 'something between' me and my dance partner. But I still keep accidentally overdoing it - walking a bit too far or too fast, that kind of thing. It takes me slightly longer every day to walk to the bus and I get overtaken by little old ladies as I waddle/lumber down the street. With all this, it has gone from taking me about half an hour to cycle to work, to over an hour walking/bussing/walking. I'm trying to meet up with a friend for lunch but am having serious doubts about my actual ability to walk swiftly enough to meet her, eat, and walk back within a reasonable period of time.

You have to go against all your natural (or mine, at any rate) inclinations - usually if I start to get out of breath, it is a signal I should be working harder. If stuff starts to hurt, I am feeling the burn and it is a good thing. This is not however the way you are supposed to approach things if pregnant. As soon as you get out of breath or your heart is racing, or you feel a bit hot YOU MUST STOP NOW. Likewise if you have any sort of abdominal pain - that used to tell me that I was working my tummy muscles. I was slightly amused by some of the indications that you should stop exercising - for example, having persistent contractions, bleeding, or having poorly controlled epilepsy. Are there really women for whom this would not be a signal to slow down?

I have taken to browsing that barometer of national opinion, Mumsnet, of late. Just to read some bits and pieces about pregnancy etc. It's quite an eye-opener - clearly home to a very wide range of mums from wildly different socio-economic/class/political backgrounds. The forums seem to go off on weird tangents with everybody getting all judgemental. But they do make for interesting reading. I haven't contributed yet, I am just what they call in the trade a 'lurker'. I suspect the vitriol, dogmatic advice and occasionally blinding ignorance are no different to what you would find on any internet forum, but they are not places that I tend to hang out online.

This may all change once I am trapped at home with a squawling child. Advice on amusing internet forums welcomed...

Immobile

This pregnancy lark is surprisingly hard work at the moment. We went to the Dorset/Devon coast for a couple of days this week. It was gorgeous, lovely weather, lots of beautiful views and walks... and for the same reason, extremely frustrating.

I think I mentioned I had to give up cycling a couple of weeks ago after a somewhat alarming ride down a hill where I realised I probably couldn't stop if I needed to. And of late I've been having the odd stabbing pain in my right buttock, which could be anything, according to Google, from sciatica to pelvic girdle pain to symphysis pubis dysfunction (please God not that). This is something I've had every now and again throughout pregnancy, but just the odd rather painful jab. It was getting a bit worse on our first day down at Lyme Regis, but still manageable. The following day, which was much cooler, I felt up to a proper walk, so we walked two miles along the coast path and then two miles back. What would be a fairly short walk in normal circumstances. I managed pretty well, slowly, but not too bad. The stabbing pains came a little more frequently on the downhills, but it was okay and the views etc were awesome.

The following day was a nightmare - almost every step caused me serious pain. I had to get my husband to get the car to come and pick me up from the town centre (it was only about a five minute walk away).

It seems to be better again now, and I managed a day walking around Marwell Zoo without too much hardship, but I think the lesson is clear - I really can't walk all that far without it causing me problems. Plus it's just soooo tiring. This doesn't bode particularly well for the first weeks of maternity leave - while waiting for baby to arrive. I have visions of myself soldered to my chair or bed, occasionally heaving my whale-like carcass up to the sink to refill my water glass. Not terribly elegant. Hey ho.

But I'm not going to let it beat me. It's festival time again this weekend, so we're heading to Cornbury Park to mingle with the posh folk and listen to middle of the road bands. Not my normal cup of tea, but 'Poshstock' is probably the best festival if you don't want to expend too much energy. Plus, I quite like the Noisettes. Hubby will be carrying my chair...