This week Baby Jones is 14cm long and weighs about 200g. There's a lot of wriggling going on - which I thought I'd hate, but actually I love it. Far from feeling like I have a weird alien like creature developing inside me - it's very comforting and I've taken to saying hello whenever it moves - much to the amusement of people around me.
Accoring to Ask A Mum - the oracle of all things baby related, it can't hear me talking yet - it's currently being entertained by a soundtrack of my heartbeat and my digestion. For which I sympathise greatly. Anyone who has had a beloved "bowel" conversation with me (Miss Haigh - you're stil the best partner for these conversations), will know that my digestion is hardly symphonic and pregnancy has done little to help matters, so I should imagine the poor thing is being deafened by rumblings and gurglings.
The sickness is waning - hurrah - but I still feel queasy. It seems the only time the queasiness lulls is when I'm eating. Now I never thought I'd say this - ever - but finding things to eat constantly is really, really hard. Currently top of the list are those bake your own rolls covered in butter. At this rate the "I've only gained 4lb" smugness isn't going to last very long.
In other news this week I have decided that I never want to be a phlebotomist. I had to go for a load of blood tests on Friday which where taken by a poor woman who spends her day drawing tube, after tube of blood from people who don't want to be there, in a small room with no natural daylight - it was positively vampiric.
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