She continues to struggle on in a similar sort of vein. She’s got about enough energy for one hour of usefulness per day, the rest of the time she spends lying on the sofa or on the bed or in the bed.
We’ve started making certain preparations. An opportunity arose to acquire a rather spiffing pram/buggy device, which she capitalised on, as well as picking up some other guff too under similar circumstances. Though this will save us a lot of money in the long term, it does mean that the house is now full of crap.
She remarks that she can now feel the weight of the little fella, which must be quite peculiar. She’s very apprehensive about the ordeal which she faces in the not-too-distant future, but there’s no turning back now. I suppose I should probably rein in all this cocky swagger, because I doubt that it will all be meadows and flowers for me either, but I consider that it’s my role to be relatively optimistic. I think that this might help her.