Week 36, Day 4 (Making a splash & trying not to make waves)

The contractions started up again last night, so I thought I'd test out what the midwife said about the old bath test. (To revise: a warm soak won't stop real contractions, but they usually do stop the practice ones)

It's true, it really does work! From the moment I eased into the hot foamy suds, all crampies went away and everything became really niiiiiiiiice and comfy.

Trouble is, our bath isn't particularly deep or wide, so my belly rose like a big old dry coning tower above the bubbles.

Sort of Everest above the cloud layer, I guess (but if Everest's skyline was inclined to leap about then it would make the 6 o'clock news).

If I lay on my side, however (with the rolled towel under my neck to keep from drowning), baby was immersed and he relaxed into the stroking of my hands on my bump. If we get to do the labour thing (as opposed to the caeser thing), then I think I can be found in my bathtub right up til it's time to go to the hospital.

Yesterday I spent the day in the truck with Wayne, as he took several loads of plants & ornaments from his parents rental home and relocated them in our shade house & paddock.

I didn't lift anything heavier than my coffee cup, but no doubt all the rumbling around helped bring on those contractions (which I kinda hoped it would...)

I haven't mentioned much about his folks' woes up til now, but I guess the time has come where I have to.

How's this for bad luck/rotten timing?

Wayne's Dad & Stepmum were told by their landlord that they had to move out of their rented property with the minimum of notice, thanks to the Selwyn District Council. (Yeah, them again).

Seems the Council refused to issue the building consent for the owner's new house until the old house was demolished. That would be fair enough if we were talking a quarter acre section, NOT a property of tens of acres in size.

Within a week of this distressing news, Wayne's Stepmum had a brain haemorrhage (her 3rd in just over a decade).

We're quite sure the stress of having to move again brought this on - she was fine up til then.

So poor Denise has been pretty much vegetative in Chch Public for the last month, and today she goes under the knife for the second time since they admitted her, to investigate a whole new bleed on the brain.

In the last month she's been a little responsive at times, but other times has slipped right back to something like a waking coma.

Wayne's Dad has been running himself ragged, driving all the way into the hospital each day to sit with her, AND keeping up with his job, AND looking for a new place to live.

He's found somewhere short-term, thank goodness, and hopes to move this week. This means the boys (Wayne & his stepbrother) need to drop everything they possibly can, and help out, because you cannot imagine how much stuff there is to shift!

Two people should not be physically able to hoard so much *stuff* ( You didn't hear me say 'rubbish'). To give you an idea, Wayne has taken FIVE loads of pot plants and ornaments away, and that's in a four tonne truck with high-sides, and does not count the stuff he's tipped out into the 'no way Jose' pile.

And he aint done yet...

We're not allowed to throw anything out, but we are anyway ;-) (The inlaws don't do computers so I can safely say this, LOL)

Good grief.. there's stuff they've kept that even Moonie the Looney would turn his nose up at.

I feel desperately sorry for Wayne's Dad and Stepmum - well, more for Wayne's dad really because Denise isn't feeling much nor is she likely to. What rotten luck that all this had to happen at a time when they were looking forward to the grandchild they never thought they'd have.

So the moral of the day is enjoy what you have, because you never know what's around the corner. Go out and hug that tree today, because someone might cut it down tomorrow.

Btw ... the cat did not belong to the neighbour, so he remains. A friend who works at a no-kill shelter tried to get him in there for adoption but as he was considered "out of area" they wouldn't take him. Wayne has begged me to reconsider, so I've granted Big Grey a reprieve to be reviewed in one week's time on the following conditions:
1. He learns that he's not allowed in the kitchen (this rule has been extended to all cats, in the pursuit of fairness).
2. He stops trying to trip me up at night when I'm staggering off to the loo in the pitch dark.
3. He continues to be a pacifist and doesn't start any fights.
4. We come up with a much better name than any so far.

The cat must have heard every word, and since then has worked overtime to impress me with his devotion and sweetness, even to extremes of attention and cupboard love.

Be careful what you say around your pets... they might understand more than you'd like them to!