Hormones are funny things, when you’re a pregnant mother-to-be. Karen goes from jubilation to paranoia at the drop of a hat. The jubilation bit is great, of course – I just went into the kitchen, where she proudly declared “I yam making biscuits!” – and I suppose that the bad times just have to be endured. There’s not really much that either of us can do about it, apart from hold tight and hope that it passes sooner rather than later. Generally I find that putting her to bed works quite well too.
All this being said, I think that I detect slight improvement. She is, as I may have mentioned, very worried that the entire pregnancy will be as uncomfortable as these first three months, when she had been “promised” by various literature that the worst should have passed by now. At risk of tempting fate, things do look marginally better with each day that passes.
Yesterday, and I apologise for any gruesome details that you may not wish to hear, as she dressed, I asked her why she was using a sanitary towel. She shyly looked to her feet, and explained that due to various factors, a pregnant woman suffers a slight loss of bladder control, which can result in a small mishap accompanying any coughing that may occur.
I, naturally, am finding great sport in asking “Did you…?” each time she coughs. I got a really painful pinch on the arm yesterday, as a result. But I am not going to stop. Hoh no. Too much fun.