I, idle little super-special snow-flake that I am, am still in bed. I know it’s lunch-time.
Things achieved today:
- Called work and left rambling out-burst of apologies on the answer-phone for someone else to deal with. I think I said I’d email them at some point today. I have not done that yet.
- Eaten two slices of toast. This took me three hours. Why did it take me three hours? Because I feel sick, that’s why. Don’t get me started on the mthrfcking irony of getting morning sickness at 14 dpo while on exploding-tube-watch.
- Taken my lap-top back to bed with me and played Sims. Because, goddamnit, if my life’s not perfect, their lives will be. Make it so.
- Knitted about two rows of a brand new project I had no business casting on for when there’s so many unfinished things lying about the flat weeping in neglected despair.
- Umm… That’s it.
H is in the study, actually working, so I feel I can’t go and pester him just because I’m bored and slightly nauseous. I’m supposed to be saving him for distraught and in terrible agony.
Poor H. He is taking all this drama rather hard. I think he has had a non-stop stomach ache since I woke him with my thrashing and flailing at dawn last Wednesday and told him that he would now have to put his trousers on and find me a) sanitary towels and b) a pregnancy test and c) two paracetamol. At two weeks into the cycle. Even he knew this was weird and stupid and possibly delusional, but because he is a Good Husband, he did as he was asked.
And then the whole business of this happening in his parents’ wee hoosie. The In-Laws were angelic about letting me lie down out of everyone’s way on their bed (the hoosie is so wee H and I sleep in the living-room on the World’s Most Uncomfortable Sofa-Bed when we visit), and angelic about driving me to hospital when the pregnancy test came up positive and the kind person on the NHS Direct phoneline basically peed her pants a little and told me to go to the A&E NOW NOW NOW. And we all thought I was miscarrying and possibly rupturing something important into the bargain and I was in a lot of pain (grey, taciturn, scowling miserably) and I was bleeding and it was all a little, you know, personal, and they were both so sad and anxious for me, and God it was a miserable day.
Since when H has been chauffeur, hand-holder-in-chief and general dogs-body, and has watched complete strangers shove phallic things into what he has every right to regard as his private play-ground, and his wife wince when they do it, and he hates needles and yet there they are sticking endless needles into said wife and leaving socking great bruises behind, and then there’s constant waiting for the other shoe to drop and even more medical horrors to ensue.
And all the while, this is a man who longs to be a father, and who loves his wife, and he can’t protect her from all this, and he’s been through it all twice before, and I think he’s having trouble with the elasticity of his tether.
But he’s being very brave about it, and has just brought me lunch. In bed. So I can carry on being a super-special snow-flake.
And so we wait for the promised snow to start falling.