I am drinking a nice glass of red wine; as per the doctor's suggestion to see if it will help me relax. Too much inhibits labour though, apparently. So in moderation. Or maybe not. I'll see.
B has cooked a fantastic pizza, with prostaglandin-heavy pineapple. And we have tried the, er, other thing that is supposed to induce labour, despite the physical challenge of me feeling like a whale. No joy so far, although getting the hoist in to position was quite amusing.
Incidentally, do you think whales ever feel sexy?
No, I don't think so, either. At least, you never see them in a basque and frilly knickers, acting out scenes from Cabaret, do you? Maybe grim and unshaven in a roll-neck sweater, doing 'Das Boot' ... or possibly even the Kenneth Moore part in 'A Night To Remember'. But erotica and your whale, generally speaking, do not go hand in hand.
We have finally got bank account details for B, so I have spent a couple of days invoicing for all of September's work. This is great news - we have enough cash in hand to get a tank full of petrol for B to get to Manchester for work on Sunday and then on to Birmingham; and ten pounds left in the housekeeping until the end of the week. It's not that people aren't ready to pay us - just that we haven't had the facility to accept their payments. We do get reimbursed for travel and food for work - but obviously that needs to be paid for up front and that has been a real struggle this last month.
We are still waiting to hear whether we are going to be able to keep the second car. And we are still getting on average three or four letters and phone calls every day generated by our creditors' computer systems, asking us to arrange to make payments on the debts that have been included in our bankruptcy. We are both finding it quite stressful - but presumably it won't last for ever, once the Official Receiver contacts them all.
The final straw for me this morning was an enormous Council Tax bill. In theory we should be eligible for a reduction - but because things were so stressful during the last little while at the other house that we didn't return and fill in the gargantuan claim form they sent us three months ago and they have charged us for a summons. B is sorting it out because I simply don't have the head-space. The good news, though, is that we might also be eligible for some help with the rent. Provided we can find all the bits of paper that they need us to send them.
Not terribly cheerful. But my brain is functioning a bit again, I suppose. I've put some books on eBay - mostly SF literary criticism, with a few other bits and bobs - click here for a blatant pimp :).
I just want the baby OUT. I was chatting to a friend a couple of nights ago on Facebook; and also the Community Psychiatric Nurse who rang to introduce himself (the midwives and the doctor have arranged for him to visit a few times after the baby is born as part of the plan to stave off another bout of post-natal depression). Both of them described the next few weeks as 'a happy time'. I can't see it myself. I just want to get through the next couple of months and not spend most of it feeling like I want to go to sleep and never wake up.
Not very healthy.
I think that now, having gone through the worst of it all, we both have time to fall apart a bit. Which is good. And bad. If you see what I mean.
For tonight, that is all.
Except - Leo is fine. Happy, almost walking. And fascinated by the sheep we have borrowed from a neighbour to keep the grass in the orchard down. We sing Baa Baa Black Sheep every morning to them out of the window.