Previous month:
October 2003
Next month:
December 2003

Rare as it is for me to use this as an actual "Blog"

Here's something Warren picked up from the New Scientist concerning Racial bias and the effect it has on brain function.

Reading this is struck me that it would be interesting to do a much wider study, including people of all races, and those who puport to not be racist. I wonder what the test results would be like for people who explain themselves as non racists, but who do notice difference? Would some sort of cognitive dissonance occur?

Only marginally related. In the college Mackay teaches at, apparently there are a couple of Somalian kids in the 99% Asian population (it's in the Southall neighbourhood and it's a crammer). They are unmercifully taken the piss out of almost constantly for no real reason other than they are not Asian, so it seems. Tis a strange business - racism does seem to be treated as if it's a one way street, whereas rather bleedin' obviously it applies to any majority population where the minority are shown as being from a different race. McK said the teachers who saw this behaviour most were unbelievably shocked by how casual and open the kids were about it. But, if the kids were white and the Somalian kids were Asian, something tells me it would be more covert and possibly nastier (though that's just me being prejudiced against white racist kids, obviously).

It's a tangled old mess, so it is.

No news other than extreme knackerdness from weight lifting, since she's grown so much weight wise in the last 3 or 4 days. Stretch marks are now reaching *above the level of my waistline* on these trews. I told you I was extremely oversized, didn't I.

Pray that she's under 10lbs. Please.

Milk, a milk, a-milko!

So we're in week 37 territory.

So I've had a "show" a couple of weeks ago...

...and now, milk: little squishy, weeny amounts is actively visibly there. Get-attable. The strangest bloody thing possible - taking a part of your body that has previously been - well if not inert exactly, at least the most it's been able to do is squish small sebum noodles out of its tiny volcanic tips. Now, doing the ritual greasing - whammo, a load* of yellowy creamy juice suddenly appeared. Blimey! How can I describe it. Frankly, it's freaky. If one is wounded, and one squeezes the wound, out comes some lymph fluid and blood. After 33 years, you get kind of used to that. Or, alternatively, if one has a nasty swollen lump and squeezes that, out comes a stinking corruption, an almost obscene sludge.

This looks closer to the sludge than the blood, but it's to be welcomed, so the brain does a huge about face. In the immediate, it shouts: "Oh God, what the hell is that!" then mere miliseconds later a reassurred "Oh, it's milk...". But still, not exactly usual behaviour for one's breasts! Not thus far in any case.

Well that's what it feels like when you've only seen a few dribbles, anyway.

*I say "load" - more like the amount you'd get of blood if you pricked your finger. Probably even less.

So the major point in this is... the countdown has more than just begun now. We're getting there, and fast. Thank God!

sleep, lovely sleep

Sleep deprivation has been vaguely stopped in its tracks for at least 1 day, since I chose to go to bed at 8.30, and was asleep within an hour. Certainly, the waking up at 10.35, 12.10, and 2.35 (awake then till 3) broke it up a little but woke at 7.54 with a remarkable sense of having had more or less enough sleep. It's rather bemusing, and I'm not really sure what to do with myself. Should I just go back to bed anyway to grab some more sleep while I can? Or should I potter round the house clearing up in readiness for sprog? Sadly, Mackay has the answer to that one sewn up.

Actually went to the second half of the NCT course yesterday and although it told me more or less nothing I didn't know already, for someone with my abysmal memory, it's handy to go over some things like panting and breathing techniques once again. Sadly and almost inevitably, the course was far more enjoyable and participative than the NHS ante-natal - the reason obviously being the more interrogative and demanding nature of the participants (ie: a bunch of middle class couples from Clapham who had paid to be there, ratheer than a mixed bunch of Streatham and Tooting residents). The NHS classes I had to try desperately not to be the person with lots to ask about and contribute, but as I'd suspected with that particular class, the people who seem to be wanting to stay in touch and communicate are inevitably, the more articulate and responsive members. Without a doubt it's a class & culture thing rather than anything else, but what can you do?

And lastly, yesterday was almost a record day for extreme heartburn. Stupidly, I took the opportunity to eat a ton of biscuits at the NCT class and all that wheat 'n' sugar played havoc with my system *all day and night*. Hence the wakings up which were uniformly for the reason that I had a large, glowing acid debilitation eating me from the inside. I worry that I'm beginning to fuck up my stomach entirely by the amount of antacids I'm taking to try and combat it (usually to no avail). God knows, I'd be sticking pins in my eyes if I thought I could never enjoy a decent pinot noir again for fear of grimacing on every sip.

Sometimes I read what I've written and raise my eyebrows to the ceiling! But, well - sod it, you like what you like, in life don't you. No point apologising for it. A £15 luxury like that, one a week or less is a hell of a lot less extravagant than having a taste for jewellery.

The thin brown line

I've got one of those lines - I can't remember what they're called now, but the meridian line down the centre of my giantess's belly. After looking at a gorgeous looking woman on the ante-natal class who had a really dark brown line against her African already pretty dark brown skin, I assumed that the pregnancy books were describing something that happened to black skin but were being politically correct.

But there it is. I must take some digital photos of this belly protruberance thing because it quite unbelievable - but, all the bruised scars (and to an extent the humungous stretch marks) might make people shudder a bit too much. "Too much information!" they would cry as they looked away, grimacing.

Meanwhile my reaction to all of them will be "Yeah well, imagine living with it you weaklings!"

Despite continued exhaustion and too much stress at work, I'm in a mucho better mood that the beginning of the week, for no discernable reason. It could simply be that I get to wear a nice comfy pair of trousers.

*Yawn*. Back to work. You know what though as well? I keep forgetting what week I'm in now, because the weeks have flipped over completely. I'm now at "3 weeks to go" rather than "37 weeks". Three weeks to go just sounds delicious in comparison to the alternative.

The right trousers

two weeks late but what can you do. At last I have more than 1 pair of wearable trousers. Having a belly which has grown out of my normal size (in all but 1 pair of cheapo stretch pants) I had to get a pair of trews the next size up and joy of joys, they're really loose on me, thus proving that they are in fact a bit big.

I just want to make that clear :) It's not because I'm really fat.

Working in the office today and joy of joys travelling in and waking up at 7 (after eventually getting to sleep at 2, then waking up, waking up, waking up all night) rather obviously I have huge black bin liners beneath my eyes.

I can't believe I'm a week and a half away from stopping work. Every hour closer is a joy, I'm telling you.

I notice a growing theme of just general discomfort and lack of being able to think positively about anything this week. Can I just qualify and say "anything positive about my immediate position". Makes me wish I had gestational diabetes and would be induced next week.

Sleep... please...

I've come to the conclusion that both McK and I are suffering from bad sleep deprivation symptoms. Particularly Mackay, since I've always suffered from insomnia and am thus slightly more used to it.

But he's been in a bad way for a while, and now, the bit where I have to change position to lie on my back but upright is causing him to get up and go and sleep on the sofa bed. It's the snoring. I'm very congested. This is a much better solution than that which he had been employing - sighing alot and huffing, which did the trick in that it woke me up. But then I was likely to wake up anyway.

Week 36. 4-ish weeks to go. They can't come soon enough, I'm telling you. I would gladly swap sleep deprivation due to small person being on the inside with the outside version. At least then I won't feel like I'm trying to get to sleep with a stitch in my side.

Sorry, really not doing well on the excitement and joy front these last few days. Just exhausted.


I have a cold.

I am being forced to wear a weird, 6 armed, thick webbing, elastic and cotton corset that I can't sit down in (but it is heavenly when I stand up).

Sprog has dropped down and is now causing me to want to go to the loo every single time I stand up. Heartburn hasn't gone away. Groin pain barely baearable. The Post Office are refusing to deliver my Mothercare parcel and "Blooming Marvellous" have failed to deliver my extra-enormo sized trousers after 2 weeks of waiting. I have 1 pair of trousers I can now wear - and I've had to sew them up once.

And to top it all after a perfectly lovely evening out with Danny, Quinn, Ada (who is still ludicrously placid), Haddock types as well as Stephen, Becca & Spike (who laughed! And looked wonderful as a result instead of the serious faced little kid I saw last time)... woke up on the day I'm supposed to be in an NCT ante-natal class which we have paid for with a raging sore throat and a need to sleep for at least another 7 or 8 hours.

So all in all am not in a terribly good mood.

It's getting a bit sad

So because I'm going though a DB and organising it and it's the dullest thing in the world, and because yesterday was one of my "work at home" days I ended up watching what appeared to be a never-ending stream of "Angel" episodes in the background whilst working.

Rather than going in to it (how horrifically sad that would be) my quick capsule review is: It's not bad. Could be better, but it's relatively funny and the characters aren't too one dimensional. Tthis is how long I carried on working yesterday because I couldn't be bothered to stop - I turned on some eps at about 2pm. Switched off the 3rd tape at 9.

But - this is exactly why I borrowed them - relatively inane, relatively well written, time passing fluff full of gratuitously nice looking yoofs, for the point at which I can barely move about. The series clincher at the end of Season 1 was mind you *shockingly awful*. What's in the box? Is it scary, is it terrifying? No, it's just some old character brought in to spice up the ratings. Actually made me laugh: Angel dancing sequence, and the first singing bit. Favourite character thus far: Wesley.

Realised that my skin above my bellybutton is completely numb fromthe laporoscopy and now it's so stretched tight that covers about 4 inches or so of flesh. Tis very peculiar. No other exciting news to report.