Today is not a glamorous day.
I woke up feeling like another three hours sleep would barely scratch the surface.
After yesterday’s first ever pregnancy spew, I was uncertain if that marked the beginning of a new era of morning sickness. I resolved to be at work by the time that yesterday’s ‘incident’ occurred so I would be close to a porcelain bus. Suffice it to say, at 9:15 I was stuck on a train. No repeat occurred, but only after I gave my stomach a stern talking to.
I am still a mucus machine. I have been sick for most of April and May. No amount of lipbalm can make these smackers look anything but Sahara-like.
It has dawned on me that much as I like the maternity tops I bought, they are pretty much what I’ll be wearing for the next 25 weeks. It’s getting old fast.
I have a list of things I’d love to do at home tonight – cleaning, baking, blogging, walking – but I know I’ll be too knackered to do anything but watch terrible TV and make beans on toast for dinner, and go to bed exhausted and unfulfilled.
I would like to go shopping but have to remind myself that the Boori tall boy for the nursery, bathroom fittings and deposit on the bathroom renovation actually count as shopping and therefore a trip through the soothing DJs homewares or childrenswear departments would be fruitless as my guilt would prevent me buying anything, thereby increasing my grouchiness.
Luckily I have my massage/physio session to look forward to tomorrow. That woman finds the most painfully satisfying trigger points possible. I love her.
And of course I had a lovely moment on Monday when I spotted a book in a children’s bookshop that I had a child, and I pounced on it. I must write a post on beloved children’s books and how I intend to stock the Bunny’s bookshelves with all of my most-loved.