Whinge

If Rob is home, he's either looking after Linnea so that I can lie somewhere waiting for my ankles to deflate and other swollen parts to shrink and my pelvis to stop throbbing, OR he's working on out-of-hours work for which he will allegedly be able to take time off in lieu one day.

I miss Linnea, and I miss being able to play with her and do things with her. I miss Rob. I am getting really tired of lying at weird angles to accommodate pelvis and sinuses, reading andwriting stuff online, and reading piles of books. Today my antibiotics made me ill enough to sleep for three hours, and it was such a relief not to have to lie awake in bed all that time.

On a slightly more accomplished note, we've been sorting parts of the house, and now we're about ready to have my mother come, we're ready for the cleaners to come on Wednesday, and my hospital bags are mostly packed. Except that we got rid off all the babygros and vests we had when Linnea was tiny, so I still have to replace those. With luck, I'll be well enough for Rob to take me to the shops next weekend, and he won't have to work. We bought a hat today but then had to come home so that Rob could do out of hours work.

I begin to feel like I'm going to have a baby, not an operation. Sort of.