My legs feel like they are constantly on a rollercoaster and need a treadmill, but my body wants to sleep for 15+ hours,
And I can’t see my genitals without the use of a handheld light up mirror.
I have officially made it to 32 weeks!
Only 8 more weeks to go until I sit on the corner of my bed crying because she is now overdue. I cannot wait till she arrives but everyone keeps asking if I’m prepared and I don’t think you can ever actually be prepared unless you’ve had billions of kids previously, and even then each one is different. But I am as prepared as a woman who doesn’t know how many muslins is too many or how thick a sanitary pad is gonna cover the amount of blood, can be. But I do have a mini watering can at the ready for that first piss (apparently pouring water over your vag is the best way to go) so y’know.
The nursery is coming along quite slowly because of all the trips to the hospital we’ve been doing and so there’s literally no time to get it done unless I do it alone (which John would have a 2007 Britney meltdown if he came home and id decorated it by myself and he hadn’t got to share the experience). But I will be doing a separate nursery makeover post anyway.
She’s now apparently the size of a coconut but according to the growth scans she’s a bit of a porker and the distance she’s kicking out of my stomach is like a flailing beach whale, so I reckon she’s gonna come out a fatty. A fatty with a tiny head apparently, but it is in the Dawson genes to have tiny heads, there’s a reason we are known as the “Dwarfson’s”
According to the bounty app I’ve been eagerly checking each day, Scientists have found that babies can actually dream at this stage in pregnancy, so god help her if she inherited my overactive brain because my dreams are like full length feature blockbusters every night. Only last night did I dream I was having a long hard chat about my questionable sex life in my teens with Professor Snape on a plummeting helicopter. (Figured you’d rather hear about that than my non-family-friendly dream about Abel Tesfaye).
I’ve noticed I waffle on a lot about the hardships of pregnancy but there are good parts too….
This week I’ve discovered that I am able to fully shave from the eyebrows down, going only by touch and so if I ever go blind at least I know that issue is sorted. I’ve also discovered that despite living 21 years with a full-length intestine (which I now don’t have, as you know) and the inability to eat whatever I want, that I can infact eat EVERYTHING right now. We stopped at my grandparents’ house and I figured one cake wasn’t enough to follow a roast dinner so I had two sponge cakes and a chocolate gateaux to tidy off my meal, which ngl, still wasn’t enough. Another good thing about pregnancy is the sex. A lot of people are weird about having sex when pregnant from fear or anxiety of putting a dick through a hole their child is soon to travel through (didn’t wanna be all formal but also didn’t wanna be too x rated so apologies for the weird description). But I can tell you sex whilst pregnant is amazing, I don’t know how or why but as soon as that second trimester hit I turned into some crazed … (I couldn’t think of a good analogy because all of the things I came up with either made me cringe or made me gag, but you get where im going with this). So moving on from that positive, cause my grandparents read my blog…another positive thing to come from pregnancy is the fact that my boobs no longer resemble those of a prepubescent teen and are actually large enough to not have to wear chicken fillets! Also, my obsessive need to buy shit has escalated, as I now have a whole new market to buy for, and the options out there for babies are far more fulfilling than scouting around Topshop looking for something that ISNT A CROP TOP. Although my bank account and my self esteem don’t agree, as I think I’m turning into an actual stereotypical ‘Mom’ even with the fashion choices I’m making. I find myself looking at a really nice top I would’ve bought straight away and putting it back on the rail saying ‘It’s just not practical’ or ‘I don’t think I can get away with wearing that anymore,’ ‘I’ll be too cold’ and the most realistic of reasons ‘I just don’t have a social life to wear that outfit to anymore.’ I even picked what I thought was a cute outfit for Alex who is only 3 YEARS YOUNGER than me, for her to reply “It’s nice, but it’s just a bit too old for me.” So apparently I have past my prime and soon I will be hearing the phrase “Mutton dressed as Lamb” far too often.
I’m gonna cut this there because I’m starting to waffle on about really uninteresting factors of my premature aging process and its hitting 9:30 pm, which is way past my bedtime, obvs.
Thank you for reading and stay tuned for another update.
I was very up in the air with whether we were going to announce Baby Bathgate’s name before she was born, purely on the basis that everyone has opinions and despite being clear on her name people still feel the need to say to me ‘but what about…’ like, you think I didn’t go through every single tedious blog post of popular baby names? Or stand in Waterstones reading pages and pages of ‘The most unusual baby names 2018?’ before I finally came back to the very first decision we ever made (before she was even conceived).
A lot of people say to me ‘oh but as soon as you see her you’ll probably change your mind, you never know’ and this is true, I don’t know for definite that when I’ve been in agony for 24+ hours and high on any drug available I wont suddenly decide to change my mind. But I’m 99.9% confident I won’t.
If I have to sit through another channel five film where my mom goes ‘oooh! That’s a lovely name what do you think of that!?’ I think I will go crazy. Besides its pretty conclusive now considering we are having personalised gifts and a giant pillow with her name embroidered on. I mean, I’d look a little silly if I named my child something different to what was written on her blankets and I just had some randomer’s name on show in her room like a shrine…
With that said, I know you all mean well and I know the name of my child is somehow a very important aspect of your life, but no Margret, she won’t be named after you and yes Norman, not you either, not even with ‘jr’ on the end, cause she’s a girl (or at least I hope so at this point).
And contrary to popular belief, she ain’t called Frank either, even though my dad has been spreading that around and continues to call her Frank for some strange reason. Sad thing is she’s probably heard it so much at this point that she’ll respond to the name when she’s born.
But to not keep you waiting because I know like 80% of you probably haven’t read anything i’ve written and only clicked on to find out her name (which I take no offence to because I’d do the same and I’m a sucker for click bait).
Her name will be (don’t hate on me if it does somehow end up in a completely different ball park)…
Ophelia Rose Bathgate.
I’ve always loved the name Ophelia since reading hamlet when I was 15 and I was lucky enough that john loves the unusually beautiful name also. The most common abbreviation is ‘Effy’ and as much as I quite like that I think I’ll probably end up calling her Ophelia anyway, purely for the novelty. I’ve already heard a lot of different versions and puns of her name and so don’t feel shy to take the piss, I wont take offence just yknow, keep it jokey. I don’t want you to legit come up to me and call my child bastard or something like we are in Game of Thrones, but I do have a sense of humour so you’re all good to make a joke.
Gavin, you’re all good to keep on with the ‘ I feel ya, Ophelia’ but just don’t say it when she’s born and in public cause yknow I think there could be a law suit on your hands there.
And mom, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call her ‘Effin’ hell’ when she’s born also, cause knowing my luck it’ll end up being her first words.
Finally dad, continue the frank if you must for the next 3 months, but I don’t want her to be born and have some sort of identity crisis not knowing whether her real name is frank or not and grow up as psychologically damaged as your dog.
As usual, thanks for listening to my rambles and moans, to support the blog please like and share!
Although i have no idea how this blog post is going to turn out i’m just going to write and see what words follow, there is no purpose to this whatsoever it’s just been so long since i had written a post i felt like if i didn’t it’s one more thing i’ve been too lazy to do. Besides, i’ve got john’s mac and it makes me feel much more sophisticated and fit the persona of a ‘writer’ when i get to use it.
Nothing much has changed in the past few weeks, still house hunting and although we’ve found one that’s perfect we are having issues with the legal side of things and so i think we’re going to have to let that one go. Why is buying a house so complicated and expensive? Especially when we find one that’s just right and some other dickhead turns up with more money and decides to steal it, like bitch i’d already planned my colour scheme for the bedroom. So besides failing at buying a house and being too poor to afford to go out i’m sat with the dogs with ear plugs in like an old woman as the rain falls (EXTREMELY LOUD) onto the conservatory roof – which is my bedroom – wishing i’d just stayed in kings heath. But it’s not all bad because although i enjoy my own company i like the fact that i don’t have to sit on my own everyday and when my sister is off i have an excuse to watch shit tv shows i’m too proud to admit i secretly like, so when john comes home and thinks wtf i can blame my poor tv choices on her and it’s easily plausible. As a 21 yr old who’s planning on buying a home and having a kid i can’t be publicly seen watching ‘Victorious’ and singing along to the songs, declaring my love for Ariana Grande.
However, on another note, if Luna wasn’t bad enough when she was in season, constantly humping everything and costing us hundreds of pounds, i am now left to practically babysit the other one, margo, as she wipes her giant bloody bits all over my bedcovers. Not gonna lie it’s bigger than her head, imagine a baboons arse been dragged over your pillow and brand new slippers? Yeah that’s what i’m dealing with because my bedroom is downstairs and mom hasn’t taught her boundaries (unlike my perfect luna of course…ha..ha…ha.. Shes staring at me demonically now i feel like one of those people in horror films where there is a demon inside the dog that controls their every move when people aren’t looking – if you haven’t watched those films seriously watch them they are shitily great).
On the pregnancy front, i genuinely have no idea, i’m still waiting for my body to return to normal but i don’t think it even knows what’s normal itself now. I had my follow up appointment with a gynaecologist as the midwives were querying a bicornuate uterus and septum which would basically be the reason for my two miscarriages. But the scan showed no septum and only a slight bicornuate womb meaning, i have a heart shaped womb instead of a completely rounded one, which could cause some difficulty when the placenta attaches itself but it wouldn’t be the main reason why i cannot seem to get to 12 weeks. I have an appointment at a recurrent miscarriage clinic which will hopefully enlighten us as to possible reasons although i’m pretty sure i’m going to hear “nobody knows why this happens but it’s fairly common and most people have miscarriages without even realising,” i practically hear that sentence in my dreams, so many people have said it to me. My GP does seem to think that it is linked to my crohns and the immunosuppressants i am on as a result of the crohns though, so we have a long way to go and i think my dream of actually being able to hold my baby before christmas 2017 is slowly becoming less realistic, all i keep telling myself is that when it finally happens and i get to see and hold my baby for the first time i’ll know that this hardship will all be worth it.
It’s now half 2 in the afternoon and i’m seriously considering taking a nap, i cannot even hear the program i’m trying to watch over the rain and Luna keeps trying to eat my gingerbread house i’m pretty confident is stale now, so imma go. Sorry if i bored you to death throughout this post, it’s more like a ramble of thoughts as i sit contemplating why i am not rich and living the life of luxury or why i can’t get a huge toned ass and slim body whilst just sleeping and eating mac n cheese (which i really wish you could do at the same time).
Have a good week everybody!
P.s I dunno what i’m gonna title this post and considering i have nothing interesting going on atm my following posts are probably going to be just a stream of consciousness like this one so i may aswell be pretentious about it and call it a ‘series’ so it sounds purposeful, so here we are the first installment of the ‘Weekly Ramble’.
Also the pictures have no correlation to the text they are just a bunch of photos from this week. You can find more here.
It has taken me far too long to write a blog post and although i’m already a week late in the ‘New Year’ posts i’ve decided to combine the most important event that has happened in 2016 with my new year aspirations.
I know as soon as January hits all the ‘New Year New Me’ posts come along but this isn’t going to be about me changing anything or having New year’s resolutions. Yes this year i have put on weight and have gone from a size 6 midget to a slightly more ‘beefy’ let’s say, midget and i obviously would prefer to be “skinny” again but i’m not going to go on a diet, i’m not going to do more exercise and i’m not really gonna give a shit. I’m also not going to make any self improvements, i’m not going to be more generous or start doing ‘more good deeds,’ i’m not going to work harder to find a better paying but health comprising job and I’M NOT GOING TO START GOING TO THE GYM.
With all that said, what i am going to be is a Mother. This might not happen for me in 2017 because life is cruel sometimes and 2016 has proved that. But those of you who are lucky enough to have my moaning ass on you when times get shit, will know that In July 2016 myself and my partner, John decided to start a family. This was a serious decision we made based on medical professionals’ opinions, because of my Crohns i am already at a loss on the fertility front and in the near future i am likely to have surgery which can very much change my life for the better, it will give me around 5 years to be able to achieve what it is i want, after that is unknown. Things could get worse for me and the doctor has advised that it is very much 50/50 as to whether i will be able to have children at all. (To those of you who have Crohns and are panicking reading this don’t worry there are other factors that have contributed to that diagnosis, everyone is different, it doesn’t mean it would be the same for you) I thought about what it was i wanted to achieve by then, i will be a qualified Forensic Psychologist by then (hopefully), I will be 26, i will have a house, I will probably have more dogs (lets be honest) and hopefully be able to get a well paying job without having to worry about my health. But after i have achieved a career and a life for my independent self i might not be able to have the one thing that i want the most, a family? So with that i decided, i won’t waste my time focussing on myself gaining a career or becoming financially independent, hell i can do that when i’m 50 if i wanted to. Now i know i am young and ‘i have my whole life ahead of me’ i should ‘go and explore the world’ and my ‘life will be ruined by having children too young’ well fuck you, my ambition is to have children and to be the best mother i can be, whatever age or maturity anyone else thinks i might be/should. If i can be half the mother my own mom is then i have achieved everything i need to, i would be damn proud of myself. Of course i am lucky enough to have a partner who can support me in every aspect, and he is my absolute rock in life, (sorry john i know that was a bit cringey).
Anyway….in August i became pregnant, we were so amazed how it happened so quickly and i still remember the puzzled face john pulled when we couldn’t figure out what the result was as i sat with my pants round my ankles. Now they say pregnancy tests are easily readable, i can tell you they are not, there’s two lines but then there’s one line and half another and a faint one and oh my god i may aswell just buy my own do it yourself blood test kit for the amount of time it took. But four pregnancy tests later (after i had a right go at john for being a tight arse and getting the first one from bloody poundland) we were definitely pregnant. It quite literally was a miracle, with all the ups and the downs we faced throughout the year it finally gave us something solid to look forward to. I mean, having Luna was like having a toddler anyway except she looks you dead in the eyes as she shits on your laptop when you decide to give her cheap lidl dog food instead of Harringtons, spoilt bitch. We told close family and weren’t going to announce the pregnancy publicly until 12 weeks when we had passed the safe period. I had my VERY SOBER 21st Birthday (how depressing) and even though i couldn’t get pissed as my sister turned 18, couldn’t go on the Go-Karts in Devon, had to sit in the hot tub only when the bubbles were off and couldn’t eat F**king Shellfish at the most amazing seafood place, i didn’t mind because it would all be worth it. However, only 7 weeks in we lost them, i know it’s controversial as to who believes it is a baby at nearly 2 months, and people who may not have had a miscarriage might think that because it had only been 2 months it wasn’t a loss, well to me that unborn baby that was growing inside of me was now my life, my purpose, and losing them hurt more than i could ever realise. Sadly they had not grown past 4 weeks and took another month for my body to reject them, i had had bad pain following the bleeding and eventually over time we moved on.
The Doctors had said that we could try again as soon as we wanted to and so not to go into my sex life i’ll just say the following month we fell pregnant again. By this time we had already packed up our house in Kings Heath and were ready to move into mom and dad’s in order to save for our own home. The news, despite the worry, was again overwhelmingly great, i had a purpose again. It might not make sense to you but as cringey and cliche as it sounds being pregnant really did give me purpose, i now have something to live for, to look after myself for. The days that are empty waiting for John to come home from work now had a meaning to them, it was to bring this baby into the world healthy and happy, give them everything they wanted and it was all my job to do that. Mornings of waking up and being ill, having overwhelming fatigue and sat in my favourite position (horizontal) watching come dine with me were over because i had something to do, to look forward to and to work hard for, my child. I don’t quite know how i can explain the feeling of having a
purpose and the joy of it, it just kinda sounds a bit stupid to say it aloud tbh. I guess it would be like an aspiring doctor to finally be given a chance at shadowing a professional or passing their important exam, the relief of knowing this is what you want to live for. But enough of the cringiness… we were alot more terrified with this pregnancy because of the previous and every single twinge or movement sent me into over-thinking paranoid mode. We had visited the hospital countless times to check everything was okay and early December we saw our baby’s heart beating! We cried with relief (wasn’t all picture perfect because i still had the bloody probe inside me with the midwife hanging onto it trying to keep it steady) and the nurse told us that once a heartbeat has been seen the risks of anything happening are extremely low. The following week we were back, and we saw our little bambino again, slightly bigger this time and their heart beating rapidly. We were now reassured that nothing was going to happen because we had seen the heartbeating fine more than once, the baby was the right size and we were coming up to the final few weeks of the first trimester, along with more reassurance from the midwives, so on Christmas eve we told our close family again. Another holiday stone cold f**king sober as everyone played speak out pissed, had the standard christmas family argument, ate a shit load of food and opened presents. Because i am quite a small person and i wear relatively tight clothing i was beginning to faintly show a little bump at 8 weeks, but the majority of people would’ve just presumed i’d eaten too many mince pies. “The bump” A.K.A John, had bought me a present, a parenthood listography book which is the most amazing book to keep a track of your prenatal and postnatal experiences and thoughts, it is both hilarious but sweet and on boxing day we filled (the bits that we could)
in. We went to Darlington a few days later where we took John’s nephews out to ‘Macca Pacca stones’ (im guessing imma have to brush up on who the hell Macca Pacca is sooner or later) and we proved just how hilariously irresponsible we are as parents as the eldest, 3, went straight through the ice and into the frozen cold lake, followed by john who fell in after him. On the plus side, they had fun and we have learnt just how tediously boring Paw patrol is and how to put a nappy on properly! So a success i’d say.
But imma cut to the chase because this post is getting pretty long, sadly, on the day after we came home we went for another scan to check on Baby Bathgate who we had now decided on names (I know we were getting ahead of ourselves but i like to be very organised and quite honestly was just so excited that i just wished everything went quicker). We went in apprehensive but excited and left heartbroken and devastated, our baby’s heart had stopped beating. We were so close to being safe but it wasn’t close enough, like i’d said before ‘i thought lightning wasn’t supposed to strike the same place twice’ but it had, and this time it felt even worse.I can honestly say i have never worked hard for something, not truly. Whilst most people say “omg i tried so hard and it almost killed me to pass uni” i cannot say i have tried overly hard at something, i’ve done the best i have been able to but i’ve never had the passion to go further.
But although i’m not religious, nor am i very philosophical or believe in fate and destiny, i think to myself now that the reason i havent pushed myself harder for anything is because i lacked the want to have it, untill now. I am working hard to become a mom, i am facing the worst hardships possible and it is almost breaking me but it is because it is what i want most in this world, to be a happy parent with a happy healthy family. This is me working hard for something i long, you don’t get what you want without the struggle or the downs that accompany it, so i will get over this loss, i will heal and move on and although i cannot do anything now or for a few months (currently undergoing medical tests) by the end of 2017 i WILL be an expectant mother if not already one.
*This is dedicated to both little Bambino’s, although you weren’t yet something, i will never forget and always love you.