Aches and Stretches

Tuesday
Well, been something of a hiatus in blogging whilst we handled Christmas and got into a New Year. In brief, Baby is coming along nicely - 20week scan went according to plan, more photos of blurry unborn creature, my child has giant feet, it's pretty much all there (albeit tiny and in need of fattening up), and now it feels like the little blighter is trying to fight its way out on a daily basis. In terms of myself, the 'valium' hormone kicked in early December making everything just a little easier to cope with and furry, I've outgrown all my non-maternity clothing, and I'm beginning to have trouble sleeping due to poor tortured muscles where this uber-athlete child is stretching its way around my insides. Most noticable thing about the baby? It talks to me. I don't mean that in a cosmic 'I'm an earth mother' kind of way, but in a practical down to earth way. For example, if I eat late, it kicks me until I feed it (regular, repeated, hard kicks). After I've fed it something it's particularly taken with, it does sporadic little appreciative kicks that don't hurt. If I take it completely out of kilter (say, eat late and have a large glass of wine with no water and get to sleep after normal bedtime), I swear it sulks the next day, not wanting to be stroked or touched and giving out a general sense of grumpiness (much like its father, it has to be said). And it loves satsumas - normally, I eat the odd one but I've been eating bags of the things, can't put them down and the baby gives off a feeling of general satisfaction.

So now we're half way through the relatively pleasant second trimester - we're 24 and a bit weeks, with the final 3 months looming ahead as we try to prepare our house for fast cash-rich sale and move ourselves into alternative accommodation with a smaller price tag. Have to say, I'm dreading it, but Mr Singh has picked up the ante, has been decorating like a demon and gone from post-adolescent tantrums to embracing the wonders of impending fatherhood (so much so that he purchase real trousers in the the sale rather than jeans, a mark of his developing maturity apparently).