Monday, 24 September 2012

Pregnant Knitting

It’s been bucketing down with rain for the past 24 hours, so I thought I’d do something constructive. Knit a scarf for Jellybean!! Unfortunately, I used too many stitches per row, so I think it’s far more of a toddler/child’s scarf. Maybe I could double it up? Or perhaps turn it into a shawl of some sort, with a tie around?

Not really sure how safe it is for baby. Any ideas?

Oh, and to make it more “pregnant knitting” than ever, I’m doing it on an exercise ball to work on my core. Oh yeaaahhh!!

Friday, 21 September 2012

Priority Seating

The scenario is oh so familiar. I step into the carriage, and there aren’t many people standing but the seats are all full. I position myself by the priority seat (slightly in the corridor, with my bump out. I normally get offered a seat within 2 stops (although that is often because a fair amount of the carriage empties at Camden station)). But more often than not, I will just be ignored. Some people have looked up and seen my “Baby on Board” sign, and quickly looked down again.

Others just seem to pretend to be asleep (how else do they know when it’s their stop?). Many more are absorbed in their own little world, reading/listening to music. I must admit, I was in the last category, although if I sat in the priority seat I always always looked up at every stop.

So here’s my question. What exactly is the Priority Seat?

Is the onus on the person seated on the priority seat to look up and offer? Or is the person that requires the priority seat meant to ask? Is there a way of asking without sounding rude?

Perhaps it’s the years of living in London, which has rendered my ability to speak to strangers to zero. I am at a loss. One particularly bad time was when I was coming back from the Paralympics on a Friday evening. I normally plan my travel around non-rush hour times, and go to the area most likely to have seats (2nd last carriage if getting on at Belsize Park). This time, I was caught in rush hour traffic with many business people. I got on at Bank, and did not get a seat until Kings Cross. It may sound bad, but when I don’t get a seat after 5 stops or so, my ill feeling towards Londoners get worse and worse. I was on the verge of tears when I was offered a seat, and was barely able to thank the man properly (although my partner thanked him profusely)

But here’s why pregnant people want/need to sit down. During the first 3 months or so, we’re more prone to morning sickness. If you sit down, it’s a lot (lot!) better; however, you don’t look pregnant, and it seems anti-intuitive to those that haven’t been pregnant to give it to a small-bumped pregnant person. During the 3-4 months, I’ve generally been ok. I’m fine with standing, but the extra weight put on does impact your feet. & I imagine, when you’re huuuugely pregnant, you’ll need to sit down (for the standard reasons... you’re huge and penguin like)

Thursday, 20 September 2012

Pelvic Floor Exercises atop Primrose Hill

Ladies are supposed to be good at multitasking, right? Right. So, today the estate agent come over with a couple to view our flat, so I left the flat in a hurry for my (supposed) daily walk. I struggled up Primrose Hill, having bought myself a copy of The Times and a bottle of water from Tesco.

I sit quite contentedly at the peak on a bench. The dog next to me tries to hump another dog (but the owner squeals: “you’ve got it all wrong, he’s a boy too Baxter!”). I flick through The Times, but the wind does more flicking than I do. I wonder what else I can do on top of Primrose Hill, and how I can burn an entire 30 minutes (having left my iPhone at home as I left in a hurry).

Then I knew what I should be doing...

Inhale... SQUEEEEZE... Exhale... Release... *repeat*

The pelvic floor exercises are meant to be a part of the daily routine for a pregnant lady, if there’s any chance of a sex life after Jellybean emerges from the world. I’m not sure if midwives mean the man will be too put off by the constant wee seepage or if they’ll be turned off by the hotdog down a hallway sensation. Neither is entirely attractive, so I try to push it up to the next level.

Inhale... Squeeze... Squeeze a bit more... & SQUEEEEZE like you’re trying to squash out a cocktail sausage... Exhale... Release bit by bit... *repeat*

When I finish, I realise that I was probably making some weird faces (not to mention the weird breathing I’d been doing over the past few minutes). I look up to see the two American ladies looking at me. Maybe they know what I was doing. Maybe they just happened to be looking in my direction whilst I looked at them.

Either way, I got up off the bench, rubbed my belly as though it was causing me discomfort, and started waddling down the hill.