22nd August 2011

A quick walk around the shops reveals that having a baby is, financially, similar to getting married; you can spend stupid amounts of money if you’re not careful. A lot of things that are useful and affordable are only available online, so taking time to look items up nearly always pays off. However, when I come across this, words fail me….

Jesus Christ. Infancy by insane people.  

20th August 2011

Ah, the saga of my learning to drive. I can drive, but none of that matters without a drivers licence. In Ireland, you have to have a licence to be allowed drive a car on your own. If you don’t have access to a car (and I don’t), the only way you can learn to drive is to arrange for an instructor to bring a car; helpful but expensive. Arranging a test in Ireland takes time too; there is a waiting period of about six weeks, but usually longer. My test is scheduled for the 20th, a Saturday. I’ve hours of practice behind me, and my instructor is positive as to my chances. My tester is frankly lovely, a very nice man in his late forties.

You get to ride in these a lot….

The first part of the test deals with Rules of the Road and road signage; I am word perfect. We head out to drive for about an hour, and I do well on the car parts, the rules of the road but still fail, as I make eleven small mistakes and you are only allowed eight. Feel an idiot and sorry for the kid, but no worries, I book the next test the same day and keep smiling. 

Sunday, 7th August 2011

I go for a walk instead of a run. I am in my running shoes and gear, and have my radio playing away in my ears. About half way there I run for no more than what, twenty seconds? I then keep walking the rest of the two mile route and go home.

Problem is, I find I can’t hydrate quick enough. My stomach acts up and then kicks up, and I spend the rest of the day getting dreadfully sick. And it is dreadfully sick. I have been ill before but nothing like this; I feel awful, exhausted in a way that I never have before. Himself is a wonder; he minds me completely and doesn’t bat an eyelid at all the delight sights I am able to produce. As I’m put to bed I weakly sing this to him: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPsW2FYprfI. (It loses some of the romance when you’re wiping the vomit off your chin, but you get the idea.)

I’m also scared that I’ve somehow hurt Bump. I tearfully confess this, and Himself makes plans for us to have a private scan the following weekend, just to assure me. I mentally hold my breath until then. 

Saturday, 13th August 2011

I am terrified, but we go to the babyscan place. It is up in Malahide, and I’m advised to drink lots of water beforehand. Best we can figure, I’m about nine weeks and a few days. I drink my water like a good girl, we head in, and I take my place on the recliner. 

I’m honestly not sure what I was expecting; but we actually our little baby I’m surprised. I think some part of me thought I was faking, somehow. But no, the little person is there, and they move! They wriggle and stretch and move! Himself and I are flabbergasted by the images, and thank goodness they give you photos to take with you, or they would never have gotten us out of there. The little person is exactly the right size for nine weeks, and my breath is taken away.   I spend the rest of the day forgetting keys, phone, my name.

I see my baby today.  

12th July 2011

I miss a period, and take a test. Slowly, this appears;

Seeing it develop is a long drawn out process. I keep checking the accompanying leaflet and going back to the stick, like a person with a lotto ticket not believing the numbers. But the stick stays the same and the leaflet is eventually clear. It says positive. I say nothing, but plan to go to the chemist the next day to get more tests.

13th July 2011

I buy several and go home to test them. All say the same thing, again and again. Pregnant. I wait for Himself to come home, and plan to slowly and surely tease him into awareness of it. I underestimate him again, because he can tell in about three seconds by the way I phrase it. We’re ecstatic, and spend the evening marveling at the development. 

18th July 2011.

The doctor confirms I’m pregnant. He’s delighted for me. Due to my age he advises me to go at least semi private.

I get my hair cut, get bed linen. I feel clucky, and scared, and happy all at once.

A friend says I look peaky. I feel guilty all the time for hiding it from them, but no one should know for a while yet.

I tell my boss; her reaction is so awful I call my husband, feeling jinxed.   

Then something happened…. 

I want to be a gangster’s moll and go and rob a bank. 

He might have been a great dad.

He might have been a brilliant husband.

He might have been a dutiful son.

He might have been an understanding brother.

He might have been a kind boss.

He might have been a good barrister.

He might have been an excellent Christian.

He might have been a compassionate neighbour.

He might have avoided all the Cardinal Sins.

He might have made sure the Sun still rose and set.

He might have been this, all this, and still;

He was bad at his job, and bad for Ireland.

RIP Brian Lenihan. You did not do a good job, and you did more harm than you lived to see. 

Nothing sadder than seeing a Hen Party getting drenched.

How the fake tan runs!

Very hard to follow. Stick with it. 

Dublin residents, missing the drama and excitement of recent weeks which saw the Queen and Barack Obama visit, have created a novel way of continuing these emotions; they have invited imagined dignitaries to their capital city, to overcome the loss. 

Over the next two weeks, citizens will have traffic rerouted, bags searched and pointless hours of TV broadcast to them in their homes, in an effort to recreate some of the magic of May.

"It was great to have Barack here," said Mary, a trader on Moore Street, "and of course, the Queen was lovely. But now we have to look at life again, and it’s just not worth it. I’d much rather have hassle and excitment, rather than the shite of general life."

Other residents agreed. "There was a sense that there was something worthwhile about this sad country, something made good despite the lies and hatred of bankers and politicians. Now with them gone, we’re like kids in the orphanages, forced to deal with the nuns again. It sucks," said Anto on Pearse Street. "You got any gear, man?"

To combat this, the Gardai have announced random road closures throughtout the coming weeks. From the M50, to the city center, commuters can expect random and uncertain rerouting of traffic, as well as reductions in parking areas. 

"We look upon it as a matter of Public morale," said Garda Commissioner Callinan. "There may be a momentary expectation that Ireland, faced with this outpouring of support from overseas, might be tempted to pull up its socks and achieve something with a population the size of Manchester, but of course, that isn’t going to happen. Instead, we felt the need to bring back the already fading glory days of this place, so that people will be prevented from noticing just how lost we really are."

To that end, Dublin will see black cars moving at speed throughout road blocks, and will watch Gardai motor bikes move in tandem, lights flashing, for no clear reason. It is expected these will last approximately six weeks, until the sense of hope has dissipated more gently.

"I mean, all we have is Enda Kenny," said Commissioner Callinan. "No wonder people here are missing what they don’t have."