As previously reported, I took today off instead of Monday. Peanut had his 3.5year old check first thing with our Maternal Nurse, scoring highly on everything except ‘What one is bigger?’ What one is smaller?’ But by that time, he was getting a bit ratty, so we chalked it up to asking him to be a bit of a performing monkey and that what our nurse was asking him to do was a lot similar to what he was asked to do in hospital over the weekend. His teeth are excellent, worth all the effort in getting him to clean them. His language is good, luckily he didn’t drop the f-bomb. His balance and motor skills are also advanced and while he gave her a Paddington Bear hard stare, she was very happy with him.
We whizzed into work to catch the end of a morning tea for a girl who’s getting married tomorrow, he had a slice of brownie, I chatted to a couple of colleagues and confused BossMan a bit as he thought I wasn’t coming in at all today. I then dropped Peanut at nursery, headed to a cafe and got stuck into a book before my GPs appointment. I’m officially over half way in The Goldfinch. For a long wordy book, not much is happening I can tell you. I’m skimming bits here and there, but as my doctor was running half an hour late, I got nearly an hour and a half of reading under my belt today.
Ah, the GP. We’re very lucky, we have a great relationship with the practice, I walked in for the Practice Manager to greet me by name and say ‘He’s running a bit late, but take a seat’. When he called me in, I dug my phone out and showed him the dates and symptoms of what I was worried about. Any men reading, you may want to skim over this paragraph.
My cycle is way out of whack. And I mean way off. I’ve gone from clockwork to WTF. My mood is, well. Let’s say precarious and leave it at that. Upshot is, my anti-depressant dose has been doubled, to try and help even out my mood and other symptoms – the next couple of weeks could be interesting. I’ve also got a blood test next week and I’ve been referred back to my gynaecologist *deep sigh*
After that I went and got my nails did, I heard an article on Woman’s Hour about people biting their nails and while I now mostly bite around them, one of the suggestions was to get regular manicures, with acrylics or gel nails on top of your own, to help break the habit. We’ll see. I can’t do much with them as I’m not used to the length and I don’t like the extra weight on the ends of my hands. It’s daft really, it’s probably only a few grams, but it’s enough to notice and I don’t like the look of lots of layers of polish. I’ve gone for a neutral colour, but I’m not convinced.
And then, I saw Jo for an hour. I was ironed out, worked on and walked out feeling like I was floating. I didn’t cry, I think I did enough of that yesterday, but I left a lot of crap behind me in the room I can tell you. For whatever reason, the second toe on my left foot was killing me today, causing us much hilarity. It was so specific as to be ridiculous. My mid-section was also tight, she got a succession of cracks out of my back that impressed the both of us.
I didn’t get much housework done, I stripped our bed and that’s about it. I’ve also run a couple of loads of washing too, but as Jo predicted, I’m a bit washed out after the treatment. I’m going to hang this load of washing up and call it a night.
Not an exciting post, but after the emotional upheaval of the past couple of days, I’m conscious that people are worried about us. When we’re sleeping again, that’ll help enormously.