and i shall call it … this land

It turns out that one of the (many, many, many (oh so many)) things no one ever told me about pregnancy is that as the third trimester approaches, the leg cramps set in. The only weight I've gained so far can be accounted for by the baggage and the placenta, so it's not like I'm talking about a sudden increase of 20kg or anything here, but that extra weight is in a STUPID POSITION,1 all jutting out in front and pulling me over like it is, so my legs have started to feel a touch overworked with carrying it all around. Oh, and add to that the absolute joy of being allowed to sleep only on your left hand side, which crooks your legs and points your toes and therefore works your calf muscles just that smidge, and the end result is midnight cramps agonising enough to catapult you out of bed before you've actually opened your eyes.

Apparently the best way to minimise or avoid said cramps is to make sure you rest your legs a lot during the day.

Instead, I've been … packing to move house. Good one, Deb. Let's just say there's been a lot of stompy pacing around the pitch-blackened reaches of my box-crammed flat of late.

my current vista

On the upside, moving house! Okay, the moving itself I'm not loving in the least, but the new place has more than one room. It actually has three of them! Three! It's entirely giddy-making. PEOPLE, I AM GOING TO GET A SANCTUARY-STUDY OF MY VERY OWN. I honestly can't tell the number of knots in my neck and shoulders that released and how much easier breathing got when I realised that in the very near future I would be able to shut a door and be truly, honestly alone for a bit in a nest of my own making. I am going to fill it with all the things that remind me who I am, artworks and music and movies and books that ground me and protect me from the world.

Like my Shaun Tan prints, and that dragon statue I bought when I was 15, and all those paper-pinned worlds others have written for me to dive into. And blankets. Somewhere in that room there shall be blankets for burying myself beneath. It shall be my querencia.

(The new place also has a typical 1970's dearth of power points. One per room? Are you kidding me? Dear landlords: hire an electrician, get them to put in at least 4 sockets per room, and trust me, no matter how "quirky" the rest of the place is, you won't want for tenants. One day I am going to live somewhere that is literally buzzing with all the available sockets hungry to power my various gadgets, and it's going to be awesome. In the meantime, ILU powerboard manufacturers. Never leave me.)

  1. Show me someone who believes in Intelligent Design, and I will show you someone who has never experienced pregnancy. And, for that matter, someone who has never looked at the human male's ball sac with any serious pause for reflection. []

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