Why am I always pregnant when there's a heatwave? Last year, I can't remember there being a heatwave like this. Or the year before that. 2013, though? Heatwave. When I was eight months pregnant and working full time in a nursery on my feet all day feeling like I was slowly suffocating minute by minute.
This year? Pregnant. Heatwave.
I actually haven't been coping too badly this time, mainly because I have been able to stay at home, and therefore wander around in minimal clothing, and because we have a paddling pool, which is currently my favourite thing that we own. I'm also only just twenty weeks pregnant, meaning that I'm not yet at the stage where I feel like I'm carrying around a giant watermelon in my belly. Which helps.
Yes of course you can use my legs as a water slide for your toys. Anything you like. Just don't make me move from here ever.
Speaking of. I convinced myself that my twenty week scan was on Wednesday. It was actually on Tuesday. I realised this on Tuesday about ten minutes before I had to leap in a taxi to go there.
Yet another spectacularly stupid pregnancy brain moment.
This baby looks like Jellybean did in her twenty week scan (I thought, as I lay on the bed, sweating and getting over a minor quick-we've-got-ten-minutes-to-get-out-of-the-house panic attack). Same lips, same nose (what I saw of them). Which is lovely, and suddenly the whole thing seems very real and it also seems a million years until it is actually born. Jellybean feels the same way. She made this very clear when she threw herself onto our bed the evening after the scan and started moaning whyyyy isn't it Christmas time when the baby is coming TOMORROW?
People laugh at us in England because we spend approximately 95% of the time whinging about how cold it is. The other 5% we reserve for moaning about how hot it is. But seriously, we aren't built for any kind of extreme weather. Nowhere has air conditioning. When you do find a place with air con, you see loads of people lingering around making excuses to stay longer. Or you see people hanging around for an unreasonably long time in the freezer aisles in supermarkets. Because they are the only cool places in the world.
It is seriously hot though. Last night I was lying perfectly still, like a statue, and I was still covered in a sheen of sweat.
It is the opposite of fun at night. It is unfun.
Anyway, I caught myself doing housework today. Non-essential housework. (Cleaning the kitchen a bit and spilling up puddles so no one slips over is, in my mind, essential housework. Also washing because it's warm and all our clothes dry fast). Then I thought: why? Why am I doing this? Will the house fall down if I don't do this? No. So don't do it.
I seriously need to get rid of this stupid idea that my brain has, where I can't relax until the house looks reasonably tidy. It is July. I am trying to write a novel in a month. I'm having to keep my own bad temper in check whilst dealing with a grumpy overheated toddler. Also, my pelvic joint pain is back, meaning that at any moment, my leg feels like it might just go numb and collapse from underneath me. Collapsing in any way, shape, or form, is not ideal whilst carrying a person inside you.
So anyway, I told myself off. Shut up, brain. No housework on stupidly hot days for anyone. It is just not worth the extra movement. I give you all permission to do the same. Flop on the sofa in your pants and eat a Solero or something. It's all about survival, people!