And lo, at 20 weeks gestation, she suddenly decided that she’d had enough of this sitting around lark. The 2nd trimester energy! It had arrived! Off she set for a walk one evening. Setting off on a familiar route (the former “going for a quick run” one) she realised less than half way round that she had just committed to a five km stroll. Her bump cramped, her hips groaned and she arrived home to Olympic gymnasts on the tv for maximum feelings of inadequacy.
She knelt on the floor, shimmied into a Child’s Pose and wondered if she could eat crisps in this position.
I have no more notions about going for big walks. We did go to Tayto Park though, which was marvellous though I don’t think I’ve ever been tireder than after seven hours in a theme park at five months pregnant.
Because I have been donated so many maternity clothes, I feel no shame at this entirely frivolous purchase. Spotting them on The Two Darlings‘ instagram feed, want levels instantly soar and I buy them asap. Me and yer man go for a very delayed posh meal for our anniversary with me in my new fancy pants. (The real anniversary had fallen at a point when a good meal for me was cereal.)
Time for the big scan! Just beforehand Mr Proper Fud agreed that yes, we should find out the gender. So of course, baby decided not to play ball at all at all, firmly clamping their little legs shut. But everything was just great and I breathed a big massive sigh of relief and went off and got my nails did before the holidays. I’m not spending money on booze, so I may as well have nice nails from time to time.
Holidays are great. I absolutely know my limits now and didn’t insist on any traipsing round historical sights or pretty ports. I discover pregnant heaven is lying in the sea on my front on a rubber ring. Elder child is content to play in the sea or the pool or with the interchangeable neighbours in our mobile home cul-de-sac when we’re at “home”. We quickly realise no one in the ten mobile homes in sight has a child quite as loud as our four year old. Luckily he appears to be the youngest around and everyone treats him indulgently. (Which is probably where we started to go wrong about 3.5 years ago)
We venture to the aquarium in Barcelona, where there’s an 80m tunnel you are ferried through on a slow travelator. It’s great, but you can’t get a good photo in an aquarium with a phone, so you’ll have to take my word for it. The boys get those lurid slushie ice drinks for the first time ever and acquire a new Beanie Boo each. These non-specific-to-Spain events are probably their highlight. Ted insists the that he hates Spain because we don’t have a square caravan. Noted.
There are lovely kittens on the site, fed by the management so not feral, and a lot of time is taken up looking for Mammy Whiskers (tabby matriarch) and Ginger Biscuits (marmalade kitten). No idea if these are legacy names, or ones given by my children. I have to sensibly explain that we cannot take Ginger Biscuits home, nor can we capture a fish from the sea for the same purpose. Although I would very much like Ginger Biscuits in my life secretly as would husbag who even rescues him from a tree one day.
Incidentally I cannot recommend campsites enough for young children, especially when you do not have the energy or will to entertain them for the 16 hours a day that they will be ON.
So that was the holiers – or, making the same amount of meals and creating laundry in a hotter location as I like to think of them. Stay tuned for the next update where everyone goes back to work and school and life is generally less tanned.