Susanne Remic is a primary school teacher, freelance writer and parenting blogger. She writes at Ghostwritermummy and Maternity Matters and in between all of that she regularly wins mummy of the year awards for running around after her two children, aged six and 19 months. This is her pregnancy blog: an online diary of her third pregnancy as she strives to overcome two difficult births, one angel child and one awkward toddler. Join Susanne as she shares every step of her journey from bump to baby!
I can’t get no sleep
By Susanne Remic on 08 Aug 2011
When I was younger, I used to love the band Faithless and their clubbing classic, Insomnia was my favourite track. These days, insomnia means something totally different though.
These days, insomnia means waking at 5am on the dot, as if my eyelids are spring loaded. Then I usually spend the next hour or so keeping as still as possible, willing my mind to switch itself off and sleep. It doesn’t work. This is like the witching hour for me.
First, I need the loo, thanks to my bladder having transformed itself into my own personal torture device. Next, I need to know where my maternity notes are because my scan might actually be today and not next week. Don’t laugh, I turned up a week early last time and now I have to obsessively check each appointment like a loon. Eventually, I need to get up anyway because the toddler is awake now and apparently it’s time for Mickey Mouse.
Once up, my eyes give up that wide awake feeling and instead resort to pinholes for the rest of the day. This leads me on to my next little moan. I hope it’s ok to moan over here, since I am busy making a person and all that. It’s tiring work, you know.
So I spend the rest of the day looking like an extra from Dawn of the Dead- except I am NOT hankering after raw meat, or any meat for that matter, the thought of a simple burger makes me want to throw up- and that is akin to hanging a sign around my neck with the words ‘Please come and tell me how rubbish I am looking today.’
Maybe I will get one or two sympathetic ‘You look tired,’ comments. Perhaps I will get an adventurous, but hastily retreated, ‘Let me know if I can do anything,’ comment. More than likely I will get a few ‘The first twelve weeks are so hard, aren’t they?’ comments, complete with the side tilt to the head and the expression that says ‘Girl, you look awful!’
I’m eleven weeks pregnant. I am not glowing. Not in the slightest. I am spending my days feeling so tired I’m sure I could fall asleep in the washing up bowl. I am thinking constantly about food- which snack will take the nausea away, which snack is not too fattening, which snack has enough nutrients, how long can I get away with eating snacks instead of dinner... I am spending my evenings pressing my Sea Bands into my wrists like a desperate woman and trying my best to ignore the waves of nausea which by this point have reached a crescendo. I am ignoring my wardrobe, since I have no desire to see if any of my clothes fit. I am at that stage where you look different but not pregnant so by different, read fat. I am at that awkward stage, known as the first trimester.
I am going to bed early, since I got up so early. But don’t feel sorry for me, reader. I am so lucky. Yes, I feel and look like rubbish and I haven’t enjoyed a meal properly since around six weeks ago. But, you know what? Each night when I collapse into bed, I am reminded of the reason why I Can’t Get No Sleep, why I can’t drink coffee anymore or eat more than one tin of tuna a week (I never did anyway, but you know...) and why I can’t stay awake through Eastenders. The reason why I endure all of this is simple. There’s a tiny little person growing inside of me and I would do it every day for the rest of my life for that very reason.
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