Week 24, Day 2 (Get this kid some dramamine & a pair of earmuffs)

Id've godh thda flu.

The upside of this is this is day three completely cigarette-free. I'd got the dreaded fags down to about 5 a day, all outside (the house has been smokefree for over a month now). With feeling so crook, the thought of making myself more ill and sitting out in the freezing cold to do it somehow lost its' appeal ;-)

Can't think why...

But now I'm starting to feel better and I could seriously KILL for a cigarette. I won't though.. I'd just have to go through the whole process again and it's not bloody worth it for five minutes guilty pleasure. Besides, kidlet's worth it (the things I do for you, Tadpole... you owe me big, son-shine. I'll add this to the list of Jewish-mother-isms that you'll learn to loathe later). Hmmm... just had a thought; better explain that above line in case one of my online Jewish friends reads it and thinks I'm being rude.

There's a saying in our family that if a matriach goes on a rant or moan, that she's doing "the Jewish mother" routine. We're allowed to say this... I really DO have a Jewish grandmother in my ancestry, although I never got to meet her. It's a family joke, but like most things that we consider funny in our family, it's bloody well MEANT as well. After all, a pun's gotta have a point, otherwise it's ... well... pointless. Humour's weak without a sting in the tale.

(I'm quite sure I'm still feverish.. can you tell?)

Anyhoo... I still want that fag, but I'm going to sit right here and tap away (erm) feverishly until either the craving buggers off, or Wayne gets around to making the breakfast he's been threatening me with since 10am. (Hints are like salts, Hon. If you don't take them, they don't work).

With all the hacking, barking, sneezing & blowing, the poor baby must feel like he's on the world's noisiest rollercoaster. Certainly my ribs are sore - and my belly too, as when you tighten your diaphragm to cough, your abs lift the nursery too. At this point I think my core could possibly bench-press a Harley.

I put a call in to the midwife the other day on Daddy's request, regarding flu & pregnancy, ie what can I take, what can't I, my illness can't hurt the baby can it, etc. Got the answerphone, still waiting for the return call. Guess she's either out on constant delivery or else one of the kids wiped it. I could have rung her on the cell but part of me thought I was being a big girls' blouse for even asking, so definitely didn't want to compound my nuisance value by possibly ringing her while she's got her hands full of someone's afterbirth.

We still like the name Braeden, so unless we get tired of it, or a much better name rolls around, it looks like Tadpole is going to be Braeden (unless of course the test was wrong, and in that case SHE will be Rowyn. My jury is still out on that one, and I'm not going to mentally commit to a gender until I can see the proof with my own two eyes on delivery day).

Anyhoo, it's after midday, Wayne has entered the kitchen (possibly loitering with intent), and I've put in a few good hours of work this morning so all urgent client work is done. I think I'll retire disgracefully to the lazeeboy, pacify the booting beast within with some food, then possibly have a wee nap.

Funny bit of the week was day 2 of flu when the overnight potty stops hit an all time high.

Going from 3 to 13 between the hours of 11.30pm and 6am is bloody ridiculous, eh what?

(Btw Wayne tells me that there's a double up on one of the postings from a week or so ago. That was because I typed, posted, and the damn thing DISAPPEARED. I hit the 'recover' button and the first half reappeared, leaving me to recreate the rest the best I could. Sometime since then the original post turned up, just to drive me nuts ;-) I'll get around to deleting the worst-written of the two at some point soon.)