You have to see this. This is the best google search that will EVER lead a person to my diary, ever.

Well, with the possible exception of "Richard Gere has gerbil up arse", which was also very pleasing.

OUCH! AND BLEUGH...

This baby...I'm ready to have her now. Really, I am. Ok ok, she's not ready to be born yet and I don't have much say in the matter, but bleugh. And ouch.

I'm huge and look like I'm ready to pop, despite the fact that I'm only just coming up to 33 weeks and have around another seven weeks to go. I think Heather has been on steroids, as she's ridiculously strong and must be about the size of a small* pony by now.

*Small - I was about to type 'snail' for some reason. "ABOUT THE SIZE OF A SNAIL". An obscure and inaccurate comparison.

But yes. She's making things very difficult, getting herself shoved so far up under my ribs that it hurts and makes eating anything totally impossible. Also, she seems to be irritating my stomach - I couldn't figure out why I seemed so prone** to stomach upsets, but after spending all day yesterday feeling sick after eating only a bowl of weetabix and a chicken sandwich...well, I was confused and gave the matter some thought. Surely being kicked repeatedly in the stomach can't be conducive to good digestive health? Is she kicking me into sickness?

God knows, I'm not a doctor, but that's the only theory I can come up with.

Alex is convinced I'm being punished for having such an easy first trimester - virtually no sickness, slight fatigue and not much else to moan about(apart from disgusting amounts of foul smelling gas).

**Prone: I typed 'probe', which reminds me of alien themed programmes on the sci-fi channel, with Americans wearing red plaid hats saying "yeah, I saw the light come up from behind the trees and I hollered for Martha, but she'd gone. She turned up three days later in that pond right over there..." Do you think I need to reign my imagination in a tad, maybe?

Oh yes, there was "ouch" to explain too, wasn't there. Her feet are incredibly hard...as are her elbows, as is her head and, strangely, as is her bum. She's been perfecting her favourite game of 'stick your feet or elbows out as far as possible until Mommy tickles them back in' over the past two or three weeks...only now she's getting stubborn and WON'T PUT HER FEET BACK IN. It's cute, weird, brilliant, damned freaky and bloody painful all at the same time...I love it but christ almighty it's uncomfortable.

Ooh, though we do have a new trick. If she sticks her bum out Alex or I will pat my stomach where the lump is...and that makes her put it in! Rubbing doesn't do it - it has to be gentle patting. Why do I find this so cute? There's no logic, but it sends me all silly and soft.

Maybe I don't want to actually have her right at the moment...but if she'd just drop down a little bit so that I can breathe, sit comfortably and eat things...well, I'd be able to enjoy this last stage of pregnancy a tiny bit more.

Alex and I have noticed that the bump seems to be a tad lower over the past few days, so I'm hoping that this is the beginning of 'lightening'. I've got a midwife appointment later...I'm hoping she's going to have a feel around and tell me that she's started to engage...though I'm not sure if that doesn't happen for a few weeks yet. Oh God how I'd love it if she'd drop down, though.

Fingers crossed please!

DAMNED CAT.

Carrott is definitely fully recovered and happy again. So far this morning he has:
-- Jumped onto the bed, rubbed his nose on my eyelid and then opened his mouth in a "you smell" gesture
-- Pounced on me
-- Tried to eat fruit
-- When I stood up a few minutes ago to get a jumper I turned my back for a few seconds. When I turned back Carrott was already lying down in my seat with a very self-satisfied expression on his face.
-- He's just started on the mental cleptomaniac behaviour again, climbing onto the bedside table and hooking my emerald cross necklace in his claws, lifting in up in an attempt to get it into his mouth. He steals jewellry - he is very odd.
-- He's disappeared into the bathroom and gone quiet. I don't trust him. I know there's some soap on the edge of the sink, so there's a high chance he's licking it. Damned damned weird animal.

MORE FINGER CROSSING PLEASE.

Also cross your eyes. And your toes. And your legs. And, if you can manage it, your nostrils.

We're in slight panic mode at the moment (although for some reason I haven't told anyone about this***) because Alex is only on a temp contract with Hewlett Packard and it finishes in a couple of weeks. He doesn't have another job lined up so has been applying for bloody everything and having interviews left, right and centre, desperately trying to get some work so that we will have an income for when Heather is born.

He had an interview yesterday for a job with Birmingham Council...it's very local (only 10mins away), pays pretty well and is something he could do with his eyes shut, one arm behind his back, hopping on one leg and whistling. It's to start on Monday and he's meant to find out today. I really really hope he'll get it, as it would be perfect for him - and the convenience would be a real bonus when he's trying to compete with working and looking after a newborn.

If he doesn't get it he does have another interview soon with HSBC, but the role is in Leamington, which would take him ages to get to...still good pay, but he wouldn't be home for ages in the evenings and would be more knackered than necessary.

But anyway - I really want him to get this Birmingham Council one. Just knowing that he's in a permanent position will take some of the pressure off us - we'd be able to relax about Heather's imminent arrival a little more.

***Lou - if I haven't spoken to you about this, I'm really sorry! I know I should talk to you about things! If I hadn't already told you, I also know that I'll likely get an email from you telling me off for keeping worries to myself again - I promise I will get better at ranting/asking for cuddles. I promise it.

Actually, why don't I talk to people about things like this? I think it might be because I want people to think that we have an idyllic, perfect life - no problems, no worries, everything is great. Mostly it is idyllic - we have a brilliant relationship, Alex is lovely lovely lovely and beyond perfect****, we have a gorgeous house which we don't have to pay much for (which is currently being decorated and beautified to buggery), two ace cats and we're having a baby who seems to be very healthy. It's very odd that I wouldn't want people to know that we're worrying about money or stuff like that.

I should really stop keeping everything to myself like this.

****Perfect husband. Ok, So I'm biased. But I really do think that he's not a man - he's an alien posing as a man. I shall list for you some things that make Alex frighteningly lovely:
-- In a room where there are other men, he will voluntarily put his arm round me, kiss me on the forehead and tell me that he loves me.
-- He can manage my moods/madness so perfectly that I actually end up apologising to him when I'm finished
-- He's willing to give leg rubs/massages etc if I ask for them...and sometimes he offers.
-- He gets into bed while I'm taking my make-up off and rolls himself up in the duvet on my side, so that my half of the bed is warm when I get in.
-- He'll try new things that he's not interested in, just because I like them (he's willing to come to see some performance art with me!)
-- If we're choosing a film, he looks for the things that he thinks I'll enjoy. If there's stuff that he doesn't think I'd like, he saves it for when I'm out of the house. He won't watch a film he thinks I'd hate when I'm around. But he actively encourages me to watch films he'd hate when he's in the house.
-- He sometimes reads books that aren't his sort of thing because I've read them and raved about them.
-- He's on a diet whereby he can't eat anything at all - the only things that have passed his lips in the past few months are meat and cheese...and that's only once a week. However, if I seem tired he insists on cooking for me (it must be really difficult to cope with!), and he encourages me to eat when we're out together.
-- He does really soft stuff in public places...and he'd kill me for telling people these examples. He has a habit of having two kisses from me and then demanding his 'free' one...he does this outside of the house, and will sometimes get to four kisses and demand an extra two. Not long ago we were out shopping and he bent down to pick something up...and before standing up he kissed the bump. In the middle of Sainsburys.
-- He will not allow me to carry bags, unless they're very light. He tests the weight of the bags before deciding whether I'll be allowed to carry them or not.
-- He laughs at my terrible jokes
-- He teaches me things I didn't know, without ever being patronising
-- He holds Carrott like a baby, because Carrott likes it
-- He cares about my friends, even if he doesn't know them; he asks questions and takes an interest in their lives. He worries about my friends when he does know them and I know he'd 'protect' them as much as he protects me.

I know some of this stuff probably seems ridiculous and insignificant...but when you put it all together and you're actually living with it (especially after being with manipulative arseholes for a few years), he just seems like the embodiment of perfection.

And now I shall stop with the soppy mushy stuff, before I inflict sickness on other people. Just because I'm constantly queasy doesn't mean you should be too. No.

SHOPPING - FINALLY

I've been having problems, what with all the sickness and stuff, with trying to decide on things to eat. Consequently we haven't been and done any proper shopping in ages, because Alex is still on his mad milkshake diet and I haven't been able to think of anything I want.

Last night Alex took the matter into his own hands and told me that we were going to Morrisons. Morrisons to the rescue! They've got loads of stuff that you can't get in other places, and I love them.

Morrisons - they provide me with inspiration!

Morrisons - they have flat sausage!!!

Right, enough of the Morrisons excitement. Onto the flat sausage excitement.

For ages I've been craving sausage and egg muffins. My Dad makes his own and they're almost exactly the same as the ones you get from McDonalds, but healthier. The only place where we could find flat sausage was in Iceland. There is not an accessible Iceland around here and therefore I had not had my muffin. I have been craving muffins for the past five months.

I now have the power. The power to make muffins. I'm off to have a muffin in a minute. Oh, the orgasmic meaty lovely eggy (cremated scrambled egg, no less) muffiny greatness of it all.

AND...still on the muffin theme...BLUEBERRY MUFFINS. But not just any blueberry muffins. No - the best blueberry muffins in the world. I'm ashamed to say that I actually ate two of these last night...but seriously, they're gorgeous. All stodgy and sticky and moist...

You'd never guess I'm pregnant, would you...?

Right! On a muffin mission!

DROP! FOR GODS SAKE, DROP!!

I'M STILL COLD AND LONELY. AND I THINK I JUST SAW A MAMMOTH.


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