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radegundToday (13 August) is St Radegund's Day. To celebrate, I did very, very, very, very little.
That's been the pattern, in fact, for the last fortnight - in other words, since I finished work. And what a relief that was. Looking back, I'm not entirely sure how I got through those final weeks. Each day I showed up and worked like a particularly efficient species of fiend, then went home and collapsed. After I finished, I spent much of the next three or four days recuperating. (Mind you, that convalescent period did include![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glitzfrau's most excellent going-away party, so it wasn't all exhausted catatonia, by any means.)
Then time started to gallop. Far from hanging heavily on my newly liberated hands, as a few people warned me it would, I'm pretty sure it's actually sped up. The days have blurred at the edges and slid into one another. Oh, yes, I've done stuff. I've been to parties, I've entertained guests, I've read books, I've tidied and cleaned, I've watched Buffy, I've role-played, I've read a lot of e-mail (I'm on some very chatty lists, and I'd fallen way behind in the madness of the last weeks at work). But I feel as though I was doing all that anyway, when I was out at work for nine hours of the day, five days a week, and I've no idea where the extra time has gone. Also, if you asked me to describe the last, oh, four days to you, I would mumble and look at the floor. If I had sufficient presence of mind, I might look at my diary and tell you, because my brain isn't working very well and I have to write everything down. They do say this happens, but it's nonetheless pretty disconcerting.
We said goodbye to Glitz two days ago, of course, which was very sad and kind of exciting at the same time. I'll post more about this anon, but to summarise: we really miss her.
So, the official due date is next Friday, 20 August - which loosely translates as Any Day Now (although statistically, it's more likely to be late than early). Nothing much has changed on the physical front. I'm still well able to trot up and down the stairs, go for walks, vacuum, make dinner, shop, put on my thrice-damnèd support stockings (yes, I toed the line - religiously - and I detest the fuckers). I'm getting a bit achy, but nothing incapacitating.niallm worries about me driving, and although there's no physical reason why I shouldn't, I suppose at this stage we're possibly edging into "tempting fate" territory.
I currently seem to be in a Disbelieving phase with regard to the question of whether my inner child will in fact emerge - it seems to me reasonably plausible that I'll be pregnant forever. That said, I understand the condition is rare...
This has been a singularly pointless post. My apologies. I'll aim for a higher content quotient with the next one. Good night.
That's been the pattern, in fact, for the last fortnight - in other words, since I finished work. And what a relief that was. Looking back, I'm not entirely sure how I got through those final weeks. Each day I showed up and worked like a particularly efficient species of fiend, then went home and collapsed. After I finished, I spent much of the next three or four days recuperating. (Mind you, that convalescent period did include
glitzfrau's most excellent going-away party, so it wasn't all exhausted catatonia, by any means.)Then time started to gallop. Far from hanging heavily on my newly liberated hands, as a few people warned me it would, I'm pretty sure it's actually sped up. The days have blurred at the edges and slid into one another. Oh, yes, I've done stuff. I've been to parties, I've entertained guests, I've read books, I've tidied and cleaned, I've watched Buffy, I've role-played, I've read a lot of e-mail (I'm on some very chatty lists, and I'd fallen way behind in the madness of the last weeks at work). But I feel as though I was doing all that anyway, when I was out at work for nine hours of the day, five days a week, and I've no idea where the extra time has gone. Also, if you asked me to describe the last, oh, four days to you, I would mumble and look at the floor. If I had sufficient presence of mind, I might look at my diary and tell you, because my brain isn't working very well and I have to write everything down. They do say this happens, but it's nonetheless pretty disconcerting.
We said goodbye to Glitz two days ago, of course, which was very sad and kind of exciting at the same time. I'll post more about this anon, but to summarise: we really miss her.
So, the official due date is next Friday, 20 August - which loosely translates as Any Day Now (although statistically, it's more likely to be late than early). Nothing much has changed on the physical front. I'm still well able to trot up and down the stairs, go for walks, vacuum, make dinner, shop, put on my thrice-damnèd support stockings (yes, I toed the line - religiously - and I detest the fuckers). I'm getting a bit achy, but nothing incapacitating.
niallm worries about me driving, and although there's no physical reason why I shouldn't, I suppose at this stage we're possibly edging into "tempting fate" territory.I currently seem to be in a Disbelieving phase with regard to the question of whether my inner child will in fact emerge - it seems to me reasonably plausible that I'll be pregnant forever. That said, I understand the condition is rare...
This has been a singularly pointless post. My apologies. I'll aim for a higher content quotient with the next one. Good night.
