This is the battle for my motivation, my time, my energy… and its quite a draining conflict!
D-Day ONE = 17th April 2012… Dissertation Day or Deadline Day – whichever you prefer. This is the culmination of four years of work. I have to hand in TEN THOUSAND words of mind-numbing academic spiel about quality ratings in hotels and guesthouses in order to be granted Honours with my Degree in Hospitality Management. I’m really hoping for a 2:1 classification but it would be safe to say that is aiming high considering I could probably count on my hands the number of lectures I attended over the years and I’m yet to read a whole book! Saying that, I spent most of last summer holed up in a tiny office, living solely off pub food (from the pub that hubby and I manage), with no exercise or daylight and only four hours sleep per night, in attempt to meet my assignment deadlines. With those hellish months still haunting my memory I know I am rapidly running out of time to write my remaining 5000 words, chart my results, sort my appendices, reference, print and bind the whole thing, but despite the boringness of it – I am determined to get this *******[insert two swear words of your own choice] ******* degree!
D-Day TWO = 17th May 2012 (with a big APPROX on the end)… Delivery Day or Due Date. This is basically the aroundabouts time I am expecting to either be induced with labour or cut up by a surgeon in order to safely deliver my sprogettes. I should be given an exact date for this in about 2 weeks (the day before D-Day ONE) at my next scan. My fate rests not on the doctors and not on myself, but on the two adorable creatures I am harbouring in my uterus. Hubby and I affectionately call them Tiny and Fluffy. Fluffy will be born first and ultimately is the boss of the two – not only is she biggest, but she alone decides whether I am allowed my natural birth or whether I have to allow somebody in green Pyjamas to let them both out “my sunroof”. Having spent a small fortune in body butter to prevent stretchmarks, I was hoping not to have a “sunroof” where there is quite clearly not an opening, but it’s out of my hands!
Before having my daughter I remember someone telling me that natural labour was like “shitting a car”. Whilst I’m not going to deny that labour was painful, I can’t help but feel that euphemism was slightly exaggerated? I remember my most painful point of labour and I told all my birth partners (yes I had three, but we’ll talk about that another time), that I hadnt been in that much pain since having food poisoning. I am in the mindset that my next labour will be shorter and easier than my last. From the first twinge, to holding her in my arms, my labour with Bunny was exactly 7 hours with no pain releif. I know I am being hopeful and possibly short sighted in thinking I can deliver twins quicker and easier than that, so perhaps I should be doing my research on c-sections? Although I have been told that once I’ve birthed Fluffy, Tiny will pretty much fly out of me… I hope the midwives can catch!
Truth be told I am terrified this time. I’ve watched way too many programmes on labour and have a mahoosive fear of bleeding to death. Therefore I am hoping that Fluffy is mature enough to make the best and safest decision for all three of us!
With only 6 weeks to go until the life changing D-DAY TWO and knowing that there is a 57% chance of going into labour BEFORE that date, I am panicking about not having everything ready. I have so much to do before then to get the house and our little family ready. Not to mention getting D-DAY ONE out of the way! but energy is waining now and there really arent enough hours in the day. I’d clearly rather be preparing for D-DAY TWO but D-DAY ONE is looming so close now that my mobile app is counting it in hours!
Baby Shower in 2 hours; so for now… Back to work Bunny…. NOW!