Holidaying in Your First Trimester with a Little Person in Tow

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I’m back from holiday and have finally waded through the thousands of emails, comments, tweets and Facebook notifications from when I was away. I’ll get around to writing up exactly what I thought of Fuerteventura soon but thought I’d start my holiday hangover therapy by sharing my experience of holidaying in my first trimester.

We didn’t intend to travel whilst in the thick of all the exhaustion and morning sickness as we booked it before we discovered those two pink lines. Having spent thousands on the trip, delaying it wasn’t an option and we both spent the first few weeks of my pregnancy utterly defiant that the whole thing would be a breeze. But as the weeks slipped by, it was clear it wouldn’t be a walk in the park.

Kicking off with a positive, the sickness wasn’t a major factor at all. Although I’ve spent more than my fair share of this pregnancy with my head in a toilet, the saving grace is that it tends to be like clockwork. It was actually easier to cope with on holiday as Craig was on hand to look after Dex when it reared its ugly head. I had plenty of time to shove my hair in a ponytail, grab a bottle of water from the fridge and make myself comfortable in one of the 4 bathrooms in our villa (yes 4! Don’t ask me why we picked such a huge villa for the three of us). The only tip I’d offer is to remember to take a towel into the bathroom with you. Most holiday villas in warm climates will have tiled floors and it’s not much fun cosying up to the loo with freezing cold knees..

The absolute killer was the exhaustion. As this was only magnified by the heat, I was forced to take a nap everyday between 11am and 1pm or I’d turn into Cruella de Ville by 8pm. Every morning we’d wake up, roll out of bed, and haul our butts to the clubhouse for a breakfast buffet like newly awakened zombies from Dawn of the Dead. We’d have a little family time at the villa then I’d be sent to bed to rest whilst the boys had fun in the pool.

Despite being utterly shattered it wasn’t easy to drift off as I didn’t have a maternity pillow and could hear Dexter’s excited little screams echoing throughout the villa. He also discovered a new ‘noisy’ hobby - namely playing with the pool squeegee. On a telescopic handle this squeegee resembled a broom without the bristles and became Dexter’s toy of choice. Craig would set him an obstacle course using the pool furniture and Dex would drag, carry or throw the squeegee through the maze. We’ve decided not to encourage him into a career as a lifeguard as he seems to have more fun throwing things into the pool, watching them sink, and getting daddy to dive in and retrieve them. The squeals were ear splitting!

All this napping meant we had to miss out on lots of island excursions. It also meant Craig had lots of solo parenting to contend with. Luckily my Craig is a far better parent-under-pressure than me and really enjoyed having some lad time with Dex, but I can totally see it being a problem for less hands-on daddys.

As is always the way when you go abroad, you discover just a small a world you in. It just so happens another couple were on our flight (and in our resort) who live a few miles down the road from us, are only a few years younger than us, and also expecting baby 2 in April. But there’s where the similarities end - it was like Jade Goody holidaying with Elizabeth Hurley - she looked amazing and I looked as though I’m entering my last month of pregnancy already. In fact, I felt huge enough to sink the entire island of Fuerteventura with a few well-timed jumps.

I’m trying to laugh it off but I’d say this was definitely a sore point this holiday. I’m used to being able to knock back the Prosecco and do some nudey sunbathing - being pregnant meant both these were off limits. I think I’d have been arrested for indecent exposure if I had even attempted wearing a two piece given the size of my belly. Hurley didn’t have a problem here though - she was bronzed, buffed and waxed within an inch of her life and you couldn’t even tell there was a baby in there icon sad Holidaying in Your First Trimester with a Little Person in Tow It’s totally ruined the illusion I’ve been selling to Craig that all women pile on the pounds whilst pregnant.

So… would I do it again? In short, no. I’m a right whingey mare when I’m pregnant. Toss in the heat, a lack of alcohol, and swollen ankles and I’m a royal pain in the arse. Craig doesn’t believe in stress but I guarantee he would if we’d have spent another week there. He’s still determined to whisk us all away again in January but I’m not sure it’ll happen now.

Of course this is just my experience - I’m sure there are hundreds of Hurley’s out there that take a beach diet seriously and will continue to look and feel fabulous right up until the very second they dip their toes in the birthing pool - but I’m simply not one of them. I can also imagine it being a thousand times easier for first time mummy-to-be’s. Without a heat-frustrated, fussy eating, little escape artist in tow, you are bound to enjoy the experience a little more. There’s something magical about a first baby too - you almost welcome the nasty pregnancy symptoms as it means you can mentally tick them off as you read about them in What to Expect When You’re Expecting. When you get to baby 2 you actually get affronted by the sheer audacity of your body for messing around with your gag reflex or making those little veins on your boobs stand out.

Other than all that - it was fabulous thank you. Lol. What a ridiculous moany wench I am….

So… anyone else had the pleasure of holidaying in your first Trimester?

 


Exhaustion, Sleepwalking and The Smoke Detector Incident - Week 11

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I’m not sure I’ve ever been this tired. Although Craig recalls me being really exhausted in my first trimester with Dexter, this beats it hands down for me. I feel constantly jet-lagged.

Everyday I’ll be up at 5am to do a little work before Dexter wakes, then be propping up my eyelids by the time he stirs in his cot. By Dexter’s nap-time at midday, I’m usually prostrate on the sofa capable of no more than occasionally changing tv channels. It’s no better when Craig comes home from work as Dexter gets so excited to see his daddy that you can hear the squealing miles away - not exactly conducive to sneaking in a quick nap. It’s now almost nine o’clock at night and I give it ten minutes before my head hits the keyboard …

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This looks no less frightening than me at 2am in the morning. Think Helena Bonham Carter in Sweeney Todd…

… And tomorrow I’ll do it all again.

I’ve been doing some really strange things in my exhaustion. I’ve always been a sleepwalker and it’s got me into some embarrassing situations over the years. At university I lived in a shared house with some other students - in my sleep, I once filled every single glass in the whole house with water and arranged them in a semi-circle around my bed - it looked like an occult symbol and I almost sliced my foot open in the morning when I swung my legs out of bed.

Just a few years ago, on a work trip to my employer’s sister office in Dublin, I left my hotel at 2am in my pyjamas and headed in the general direction of the nearby River Liffey. Luckily security staff spotted me on CCTV and guided me to back to my room. I only found out about the incident when reception cheerfully filled me in upon checking out.

Although I haven’t managed anything quite as extravagant in the past month, the signs are there that I might be due an episode. It usually happens in times of high stress and exhaustion, and particularly when I’m in an unfamiliar place. With a bit of luck, the fact I’m sleeping in my own home, will mean you won’t find me walking around my village naked in the dead of the night, but I’m still doing some strange old things.

This afternoon I spent hours searching for my purse and even went so far as to suspect my 16 month old of tossing it out of the pushchair when we went for a walk earlier in the day. I found it 15 minutes ago (4 hours later!) in the fridge. The fridge!

Unfortunately this isn’t an isolated incident either. Yesterday I flushed my favourite necklace down the toilet, and a few days ago Craig caught me re-homing a bottle of ketchup in the washing machine.

I’m also finding it difficult to differentiate between dreams and reality - I’m constantly having to double-check whether conversations I’ve had with Craig have actually taken place or I’ve dreamt them. These can be really mundane conversations about packing for holiday, dinner that evening, or additions to the weekly shop. I suppose this shows just how boring my dreams must be!

I’m still very emotional too.

You might remember that last week I had CloudbabiesTVgate with Dexter, well this week it was the Smoke Detector Incident. In fact, the remains of our smoke detector are now laying beside me as I type - a mass of shattered casing and mangled wiring.

You see, today I popped Dex down for a nap at around 1.30pm. I was so shattered I wasn’t sure if I should crank open the laptop or crawl in bed for a nap of my own. In any case, I thought I’d start with a nice bath as it takes around half an hour for Dexter to settle into a sleep anyway. So I crept around upstairs and tried to run the bath quietly so as not to disturb Dex. At this moment, our over-sensitive smoke detector decided to have a tantrum.

At first it was just a few intermittent beeps, no doubt in response to the fact I hadn’t opened the bathroom window. But then, just as I was beginning to relax into my bath, it got in a real paddy for reasons unknown. As the bloody thing is located over the top of our stairs and is too high for me to reach, I first tried the tea towel trick to fan the air beneath the sensor. Dexter (who still hadn’t succumbed to the land of nod) thought it was hilarious to see mummy and her pot belly prancing around naked under the noisy thing.

But it didn’t work.

Thinking back, a mop handle would have done it. Or perhaps I could have dragged the living room foot stool upstairs to help me reach the damn thing. But I was so tired. I just couldn’t think clearly.

When I spotted that a few neighbours and passersby were staring up at my open window and pointing, I lost my temper. I started to throw shampoo and conditioner bottles at it. Bits of plastic came splintering off and spatterings of Pantene coated the cobwebs in the corner of the stairwell, yet still the battery clung on for dear life. Deciding I needed something a little heavier, in my sleep deprived state, I somehow thought it would be a good idea to launch Craig’s trainer at it.

All I can say is RIP smoke detector.

The whole episode left me rocking back and forth on my bedroom floor, still as naked as Eve without the leaves (with the open windows continuing to let in the September chill). Any thoughts I might have had about Dexter getting his head down, and me getting in an hours power nap, flew out those windows at that very minute.

It’s been a very bad day.

NOTE: I’m definitely not advocating you should ever smash up your smoke detector. They can save the lives of your family and every home should have one. Getting medieval on said device won’t score you any brownie points with your other half either… Craig has been struggling to put up a new one for the last hour and is currently hauling a bunch of expletives at the ceiling… I guess each of these might as well be yelled at me for being so stupid.

Welcome to week 11!

 

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