It's 4.30am. I've been awake for nearly two hours. After fighting the hunger and trying to get back to sleep, I've finally given in and made myself a cup of tea and eaten a banana. I can hear the dog snoring through the floor from the kitchen which hasn't helped my cause at all, and I would normally let him come get into bed with me but he is well overdue a bath and smells horrendous. Rich is asleep on the sofa because I have been a nightmare to sleep with the last few nights and he spent all of yesterday popping migraine pills like M and M's. It wasn't until I told him that you were only supposed to take 1-2 tablets 3 times over the course of 24 hours that he realised he was one more pill from an overdose. Why don't men ever read the manual?
I bought myself a book yesterday as I have had more bad nights than good lately and I thought that would hopefully help in the middle of the night, but nope, I forgot to buy a bulb for my lamp. So instead, I've laid here for two hours overthinking everything ever that has ever happened in the whole entire history of the world. Actually, I've laid thinking about labour pains, who I'd like to come see us in hospital, what pain relief I'm going to have, what I'll wear in the birthing pool if I get to go in there, what time I'll go into labour, how will Jacob cope, what photos I want my mum to take. It doesn't end. And then after that I start thinking about the whacko dreams I've had in the one hour bursts of sleep I've gotten tonight. One of them was about my friends daughter who went missing but she'd actually gone into hiding and then sent a letter saying she was going to kill everyone, but the letter was in one of my other friends very distinctive handwriting. And then another dream was the Mafia kept coming every time Rich filled the car up with diesel and were stealing it straight out of his tank. Oh and the last one before I gave up trying to sleep was Eva Longoria was my friend but all she wanted to do was exhume some friend of hers because she wanted her face. Has Eva Longoria not seen her face, why on earth would she ever want to swap it? Reading that back, I probably should have kept some of that to myself as if a psychiatrist is reading it, there's a chance I'll get locked up. But, I'm wide awake and bored, so that's that. It is mental what pregnancy does to you. All of yesterday, I was in such a shitty mood, all because I wanted some sugar ring donuts from Sainsburys. And as a non driving human, I could not be bothered to walk there. It only takes 15 minutes and I honestly don't mind walking, but that was just ludicrous to me at the time.
Some good news was that the baby's changing bag arrived. Although I had sent a really snotty email to the delivery company not long before as they didn't think it was necessary to update their tracking info so I was sat waiting, contemplating not walking to Sainsburys. I didn't want to go out, but I wasn't happy about having the choice taken away from me. They replied pretty quickly saying it should be delivered within the next 48 hours. Well that's fab. So, with the hump, thinking it wouldn't be coming yesterday, I went to nap. Except the minute I dosed off, some big brute of a delivery driver was bashing my door down, delivering car parts for a man who doesn't live here. Awesome. He was possibly the loudest man I'd ever met. And he woke Jacob up from his nap. And that boy does not like to be woken from a nap. The afternoon was not going well. Especially when I come down stairs to find a "We attempted to deliver your parcel" note from the company who were delivering my changing bag. They had obviously rang the doorbell which isn't working. If only the car parts delivery man had done the same thing. So my parcel was with my very peculiar neighbour and they're the only other people that are home in the day. I contemplated waiting and making Rich go get it from them when he got in from work, but excitement got the better of me. It took ten thousand very loud knocks for them to finally open the door. Then the kid who looked like he should be at school, stared at the delivery note for what felt like a week before I pointed out the parcel on the floor behind him. The very bright, spotty package with Cath Kidston written all over it. MINE!
And now Lady Wright is packed and ready for hospital. The bag isn't as big as I thought it was, but it's still cute. And has lots of pockets and compartments. And I love a pocket or compartment. Loser.
I bought myself a book yesterday as I have had more bad nights than good lately and I thought that would hopefully help in the middle of the night, but nope, I forgot to buy a bulb for my lamp. So instead, I've laid here for two hours overthinking everything ever that has ever happened in the whole entire history of the world. Actually, I've laid thinking about labour pains, who I'd like to come see us in hospital, what pain relief I'm going to have, what I'll wear in the birthing pool if I get to go in there, what time I'll go into labour, how will Jacob cope, what photos I want my mum to take. It doesn't end. And then after that I start thinking about the whacko dreams I've had in the one hour bursts of sleep I've gotten tonight. One of them was about my friends daughter who went missing but she'd actually gone into hiding and then sent a letter saying she was going to kill everyone, but the letter was in one of my other friends very distinctive handwriting. And then another dream was the Mafia kept coming every time Rich filled the car up with diesel and were stealing it straight out of his tank. Oh and the last one before I gave up trying to sleep was Eva Longoria was my friend but all she wanted to do was exhume some friend of hers because she wanted her face. Has Eva Longoria not seen her face, why on earth would she ever want to swap it? Reading that back, I probably should have kept some of that to myself as if a psychiatrist is reading it, there's a chance I'll get locked up. But, I'm wide awake and bored, so that's that. It is mental what pregnancy does to you. All of yesterday, I was in such a shitty mood, all because I wanted some sugar ring donuts from Sainsburys. And as a non driving human, I could not be bothered to walk there. It only takes 15 minutes and I honestly don't mind walking, but that was just ludicrous to me at the time.
Some good news was that the baby's changing bag arrived. Although I had sent a really snotty email to the delivery company not long before as they didn't think it was necessary to update their tracking info so I was sat waiting, contemplating not walking to Sainsburys. I didn't want to go out, but I wasn't happy about having the choice taken away from me. They replied pretty quickly saying it should be delivered within the next 48 hours. Well that's fab. So, with the hump, thinking it wouldn't be coming yesterday, I went to nap. Except the minute I dosed off, some big brute of a delivery driver was bashing my door down, delivering car parts for a man who doesn't live here. Awesome. He was possibly the loudest man I'd ever met. And he woke Jacob up from his nap. And that boy does not like to be woken from a nap. The afternoon was not going well. Especially when I come down stairs to find a "We attempted to deliver your parcel" note from the company who were delivering my changing bag. They had obviously rang the doorbell which isn't working. If only the car parts delivery man had done the same thing. So my parcel was with my very peculiar neighbour and they're the only other people that are home in the day. I contemplated waiting and making Rich go get it from them when he got in from work, but excitement got the better of me. It took ten thousand very loud knocks for them to finally open the door. Then the kid who looked like he should be at school, stared at the delivery note for what felt like a week before I pointed out the parcel on the floor behind him. The very bright, spotty package with Cath Kidston written all over it. MINE!
And now Lady Wright is packed and ready for hospital. The bag isn't as big as I thought it was, but it's still cute. And has lots of pockets and compartments. And I love a pocket or compartment. Loser.
I am now officially 37 weeks, which means this baby is cooked! So come on then Lady... We cannot wait to meet you.
Have you seen that episode of "Friends" where Phoebe's new boyfriend shoots the bird in the morning? It must have been from the same family of birds that are outside my house right now. They've been tweeting away for over an hour and they seem to have been joined by seagulls on steroids. I am definitely not getting back to sleep.
We have a play date this morning, and you just know today will be the day that Jacob decides to have a lay in after nearly 3 weeks of bad nights and early wake up calls. I wish I was allowed to drink Red Bull...
4am.
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