Cept for Rufous that is.
He's taken to periods of lotsa activity, squirming about in there, attempting back loops, vulcans and willy skippers just as dad wishes he could.
The most awkward mavouvere, however, appears to be the bladder dance. On someone elses (read Mistress P) bladder. Thats gotta be on the negative side of the comfy scale for mum. This comes ontop of some back pain at times, a strangely numb heel at odd intervals, some swelling in the feet, and the odd bit of rib kicking. But then again, theres plenty of times when Rufous' is clearly sleeping like an angel and mum just feels like mum, not some ready-to-pop character from Alien.
On the mundane front we're still trying to organise a room for this tike to live in. This has meant Mistress P sorting through all manner of stuff (see pic) and taking over the lounge for a session of good old fashioned sorting. The place looked like Steptoe and son had come for the weekend.
And being post chrissy break, its back to work, where we're starting to learn all the whats and wherefores of the public service maternity leave thingy. Seems mum gets 3 months paid, and a further 9 months unpaid, leave. Dad gets sweet fanny adams. (Though there is a thing called "carers leave", which is about 8 days a year, that can be used in lieu of paternity leave.) It also seems work doesnt want to lose Mistress P, with projects and plans still being thrust towards her. Ahhh.... its good to be loved.
On the exercise front Mistress P is still preggies pilate'ing and swimming once a week, but the bike ride to work has been halved, with us driving (ohhh errrr) to a car park on the beach and then rolling the legs over in to work. With the occasional stop for a tosca. Very civilised.
Speaking of beach, and being a gloriously sunny Australia Day worthy of a beach stroll and brunch, we've also just discovered that the universes entire population of sub-3 year olds descends upon Ricketts Point for a parambulate and paddle on such a fine and nationalistic day. I think, for Mistress P, it was akin to an ornithobe visiting a chook farm... (but i reckon we'll be there next year). Print this post
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