Pregnancy Diary: Week 23-25

As I’m writing this I have just ticked over into week twenty-six, which, according to the internet is when you can finally describe yourself as six months pregnant (going by the whole there’s just over four weeks in every month thing-y) AND OMG HOW IS THERE ONLY THREE MONTHS LEFT WHAT IS HAPPENING AND WHY HAVEN’T WE PAINTED THE SPARE ROOM YET AND WHEN WILL I START CALLING THE SPARE ROOM THE NURSERY.

OK, breakdown over.

But seriously though, despite the fact I feel like I’ve been pregnant since approximately 2011, I’m mildly freaked out by just how quickly this last chapter has come around and how completely unprepared for it I am.

Lol.

Maybe lol a bit more.

Maybe rofl.

Anyway, yes, weeks twenty three to twenty five. Or what I’m going to describe as the bae weeks. The wonder weeks. The weeks where I felt a bit like I was playing on Mario Kart 64 and had a star power up.

I not only felt like the old Hannah Gale of pre-pregnancy days, I felt better.

I don’t think Chris came home to find me sobbing into the sofa cushions even once. Heck, I don’t think I even secretly cried into the sofa cushions even once.

I wasn’t sick, I could cut back on the naps, and halle-frickin-lulljuah, I was feeling inspired as fuck.

I was able to work the way I’ve always worked. Which had been one of the things I’d struggled with the most in pregnancy – this inability to recognise the person I was living as every day. This person with no work ethic or motivation or energy.

So to have her back, meant everything. I knew myself. Recognised her. And lordy, it felt good.

I’m also mildly embarrassed to say that this was the period when I spent a lot on clothes. And you’ll probably notice that over on Instagram and in all the MY NEW BLAZER COAT DRESS SHOES JUMPER posts popping up on the ol’ blog.

I felt guilty to begin with. But my inability to express myself in my clothes was dragging me kinda getting me down. It became one other thing that made me feel like I was living as someone else, and not as Hannah Gale.

It got to the point where all I could wear on my bottom half was my ASOS maternity jeans or my H&M black skirt, and I was feeling frustrated and well, a bit ugly. Y’know?

First world bloody problems I can hear you all cry.

Mate, I know.

But I went a little wild with some super bright non-maternity pieces that I’ll hopefully still love after this thing has clambered out of my private parts.

All bought under the excuse that it’s my birthday month and therefore it’s OK to treat yourself to as many things as you want because y’know, birthday presents?

That’s a thing, right?

Bit worried I won’t be able to afford one of those fancy car seat base thingies (as you can see – super clued-up and prepared for parenthood over here) now, but y’know, we’ll deal with that hurdle when we get to it.

Maybe I’ll start selling breast milk on the black market or something.

I also had my 23-week midwife appointment which is the last one before they start MEASURING ME (I’ve no idea what this entails), and was also the appointment where I was booked in for my glucose test (a three-hour thingy down the hospital to see if I have gestational diabetes), my flu jab and my whooping cough vaccine.

All v glamorous.

I’m also going to have an asthma review because despite the fact I haven’t had a wheezing episode in a couple of years, I’ve found that I’ve been getting quite breathless every now and then and so it’d be nice to have some fresh inhalers to hand.

Weirdly, for me, it seems not to be linked to physical activity (although crikey, why has walking up the stairs become such a grueling exercise?!) but to anxiety. The lowest level of anxious thoughts seems to have me struggling to regulate my breathing and I have to lie on the sofa attempting to pretend I’m sat in a yoga class and OMG WHY IS THERE NOT ENOUGH OXYGEN GOING INTO MY LUNGS?

Another cute new physical pregnancy symptom include bladder pain – the sort I used to associate with holding in a wee for too long and then finally going to the loo and doing a seven minute wee. Except lol now it’s just when the baby’s pressing against it and if I go to the loo in a bid to make a bit more room in the ol’ abdomen, I wee out about a teaspoon of urine. Dreamy. It’s like cystitis without feeling like your urethra is ablaze.

I’m also struggling a bit more with mobility – doing up shoe straps is a struggle, as is getting off the floor when I’ve been busy playing outfit photographer.

But I’ve been lucky with the fact I haven’t suffered any pelvic pain just yet (although lordy, the shooting pains in my uterus from sneezing are quite something), my nipples aren’t leaking, and my belly button has stayed firmly in.

Have I bought anything else for the baby? Not really. I’ve been sent a breast pump and some muslins for which I’m very, very grateful, and we’ve been and tried out all the pushchairs in John Lewis and practiced pushing them round and taking them down with one of those creepy fake dolls in. And think we know which one we’ll be going for – but I’ll talk more about that when we actually have it.

But aside from that, nope. We better get cracking, huh?

Hopefully we’ll have the nursery painted and ready for furniture and baby paraphanlia in the next couple of weeks and then we can really go to town with nesting and getting ready for this alien that’s going to turn our world upside down in just THREE MONTHS.

Fuck.

 

First Trimester Pregnancy Diary | Pregnancy Diary: Week 14- 16 | Pregnancy Diary: Week 17 – 19 | Pregnancy Diary: Week 20 – 22 |

 

 


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