Exam pressures, Alien invasion and other reasons not to blog.

Perhaps this is how it'll be here - no formal goodbye just, well, less of a presence. I made a conscious decision to walk away a couple of months ago but I knew I'd wander back. I like this place and I like the virtual friends I have made here. So, there will be no final post here. Like others before me, I'll meander back to say "Hi. How you doing?" I'll still try to read EVERYTHING that comes through my reader, fail miserably and feel guilty. I ponder posts, like the darned good one I thought about which was an extended metaphor of grief as a forest (don'tcha wish I'd been around for that scintillating piece of writing) and then reject them. I agree with Jess - I still have things to say but they aren't always about sinking in a morass of grief or even specifically about Emma any more - although all my observations of my world and my life are threaded with her and my love for her and my longing for her and the space that is not her, but not always consciously now.

So, I will still be writing and definitely still trying to read your blog too if I know of it. It's just got harder. I've just embarked into my annual foray in the world of work-at-home motherdom. Our dining room is currently home to several hundred exam papers to be graded and returned by the end of June. I do this most years and I always forget the slightly panicked feeling I get as friendly postmen unhunch themselves on my doorstep as they divest themselves of heavy looking parcels for me to pour over. I manage it all by chanting "Think of the money, think of the money" under my breath and drinking too much tea.

Besides which, I no longer have internet access during the day. Our ancient old PC has been re-sited into Ben's room, which does not have anywhere for the modem and there seems no way of asking it nicely to connect wirelessly. So, I am constrained to visiting here, via the laptop, in the evenings only when, frankly, my brain has seen better days. The PC has been moved to accommodate a cot in our room for the gorgeous and exceptionally chubby Tobias, who has now outgrown his Moses basket. I always feel slightly envious of co-sleeping mums and dads - it seems so lovely and snuggly to me but it's a no go here. My lovely husband has what I have boldly - and with no medical training at all - designated a mild sleep disorder. It's not at all bad but occasionally he acts out his dreams. I was woken a few months ago when the duvet was unceremoniously ripped off my legs and my (completely asleep) husband started slapping my legs (not hard, I want to stress!) Upon further questioning of said sleepy other half, it turns out he was "getting the aliens off [me]"! So, no little baby in the bed for us (although he does sneak in for his night-time feeds) and no more computer in our bedroom. But at least I can rest easy that I'm sorted in the event of alien invasion.

On Teeth and Being Average. Some pregnancy ramblings.

So there is an old wives tale that you lose a tooth with every pregnancy. I'm not exactly a toothless crone (yet) but I certainly seem consistent with regard to mouth trouble during pregnancy. I planned to update here earlier in the week. A more positive post to say that I have been climbing slowly back out of the funk that has surrounded me since Emma's birthday and regaining a little bit of equilibrium. Then I developed a horrible hacking cough which has kept me pretty sleepless most nights this week. Then, to add insult to injury, the wisdom teeth decided to throw one of their infrequent (but not infrequent enough) hissy fits and - well - the equilibrium vanished again.

It's hard not to feel a bit low when your mouth throbs and your chest rattles. My wisdom teeth are terribly misnamed, given that they are trying to grow into my mouth at a 45 degree angle. They have been doing this periodically for ten years. Once or twice a year they attempt to break the gum, only to hit the tooth next to them and then retract. Just one more small example of the way my body doesn't exactly do "normal" all that well. "Normal" wisdom teeth grow straight up. Normal births result in live babies. Every so often I am reminded of my body's idiosyncrasies in unpleasant and painful ways.

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On a happier note, I had one of my monthly growth scans this week. At 29 weeks, Jurgen is estimated to weigh 2lb 12oz - exactly 50th centile on the size graphs. Whilst I know such things are not absolutely accurate, I have had 3 other babies who weighed around national average at birth so I choose to believe that Jurgen is almost certainly of "average" build too. Most of the other measurements were pretty near the middle of the charts too (a slightly larger than average tummy measurement and a very slightly shorter than average femur length? Mummy's mini me I think!). I felt a definite lightness as I walked out of the scan. It felt good knowing that, despite the distinctly unaverage nature of my emotions as I navigate pregnancy after loss, physically Jurgen and I are happily experiencing a very average pregnancy. I just keeping hoping for a perfectly average outcome.