There are days, sometimes quite a few, when I give in to superstitious thinking and believe wholeheartedly that the universe really doesn't want us to have a living child.
On sunday my Mum went into hospital (first ride for me in an ambulance). She recently developed asthma and on sunday had a pretty horrid episode. 5 days later she's home and feeling much much better. It was scary and stressful to say the least.
My Dad has alzheimers, albeit fairly mild at the moment, and needs some support. And company. So I have been staying with him. They have a one bedroom flat and I started off on a camp bed in the living room. Oh hell it creeeeak creak creaked all night long, so the next night I artfully arranged the sofa cushions (feather filled, very posh) in a line, placed a rug over them, followed by the camp bed mattress, a folded duvet and a sheet. It was at least a foot high and I think I started getting this ready at about 9.30. I slept better. But that probably had more to do with knowing that my Mum wasn't on a ventilator and/or dying.
Oh yes, and no internet connection and fruitless attempts to hack into the hotel next door's wifi = aaaaargh!
4 nights away from my Poppet!
Two weeks after we got together he had pretty much moved in and since then the only times we have been apart have been my hospital stays during my pregnancy and after losing George. Even though we don't live far from my parents and Ray has been with us for visiting and dinner, it has been really difficult to be apart.
The neatness of my Mums hospital stay coinciding with my 4 most fertile days this month is... ahhh... whatever. I won't be pregnant this month but my Mum is fine and I spent some nice time with my Dad.
I missed you folks too.