So I'm spinning plates really. Its taken a few months to get in to the shift pattern and I'm feeling a little less stressed and anxious. I'm focusing on the fact that work will soon be over for up to another year - I'm not counting on flowers and gifts on leaving for maternity this time. Fanfares and "Please don't come back like that again you loon," is probably more like it. I think we'll all breathe a little sigh or relief.
My beautiful little boy can spoon food into his mouth, he can toddle on his own and is just about to have his first birthday. We do a family trip to the zoo. He is fascinated by everything and I am waddling like an oversized cow and moaning about the heat.I do enjoy it immensley but I'm getting tired. We also have some family members over to celebrate. The sun is warm and we are moving in between our dining room and the patio. Suddenly I see a really mangey cat trotting across my garden. I promptly give my son to the nearest person and start screaming obscenitites at the now terrified creature. Its hiding behind our garage and I'm threatening it and calling it names. Now, don't go ringing the RSPCA just yet. I'm freaking out as I think its burying its turds all over my garden and you know that I'm paranoid about germs. Suddenly a voice interupts my rant and its the next door neighbour. We haven't really chatted yet, so this is an embarrassing first introduction. She tells me the cat is from a rescue centre, that it's deaf and mostly blind and has escaped by accident. No wonder it won't bugger of, it can't hear me or see me. I am slightly mortified, then bravely state that, "I'm currently not a cat person." She picks the white fluff ball up and dips out. Everyone is looking at me. I think I've rather over reacted. I've had an incident like this before. It involved a dog jumping over the fence from next door, pooing on my brand new terracing, then jumping back. It was promptly followed by expletives, and me getting a big spade and throwing the poo back over the fence on to their patio. I think I get "The red mist" every now and then.
Friday is my last day at work and I was right - no gift or ceremony. A brief, "Yeah bye" and I'm gone. Although the depression is still my constant companion it feels less like open warfare and more like a temporary amnesty. I relax over the weekend and focus on a the next 4 - 6 weeks with no work. I can take my eldest son to nursery twice a week and have a few days to rest and slow down.
I get up on the Monday and drop my son off. I have a brief chat with my colleague who's daughter is also at the nurssery. She asks me about my plans for the next month and it feels nice to be a little bit normal. I get home and actually decide to go back to bed. My husband came home at 6am so he's snoozing away peacefully and I roll in and pass out. I wake up after a few hours and think I need to go to the loo. Sitting on the throne, I get the most almightly contraction out of the blue. It takes my breathe away and I stiffle a squeal. Oh dear. There is a lot of blood. I grab a towel, hit the floor in a heap and scream my head off. A mumbling groan and a "What" follow, to which I continue screaming and ranting and demanding help. Bless my bewildered husband. He's had 3 hours kip and is confused and scared. He rings the hospital maternity triage desk. There is a unenthusiastic woman on the other end who says, "Well, I suppose you'd better come in if you're having some bleeding." This is an understatement. My best bath towels are crimson and I'm trying my hardest not to panic and think the worst. As I arrive, ashen faced and petrified, the triage nurse suddenly looks appalled and realises that she may have underestimated the situation slightly. There is a flurry of activity and I'm very quickly wired up, layed down and talked about in quiet voices slighlty to the left of me. God I hope its going to be ok....