Back in the blog

Hello! I'm finally back! And hasn't a lot happened.

Little O was born on 28 Feb 2012 after 10 hours of labour. I won't go into details (my mother forbids it - I think she's worried I'll put potential new mothers off and jeopardise the future of the human race), but in short: it kind of hurts. I only have myself to blame - there were epidurals and other modern wonders available, but I had

Labour of love

I'm 34 weeks pregnant and have entered full labour day preparation mode.

I've watched 22 episodes of 'One born every minute'. With an average of 3 births per episode, that's 66 hair raising labours i've sat through - nails bitten back to knuckles.

I've been practising bouncing about on my birthing ball, breathing deeply and squeezing my bits in (sometimes all three at once - whilst watching Sherlock). I am having a bit of a problem remembering to do my pelvic floor exercises enough though. People keep advising me to do them every time I stop at a red signal or clean my teeth - well those are both fine ideas, but

Nocturnal manoeuvres in the dark

This baby in training seems to have inherited his mother's fidgeting and his father's love of late nights. It's cute and everything, and it's nice to have regular reminders that he's alive and kicking (literally) - but I can't sleep*. Partly because i'm being kicked in the stomach all night long, and partly because I can't help but lay awake worrying about what this says about this

Midnight...at the oasis

Well, like all women, I know what it's like to have men talk to your chest instead of your face, but last night I experienced an entirely new phenomenon.

For want of anything else to do, we saw the New Year in at the pub downstairs from our apartment. It's a smokey meat market dive, but it had a DJ and a live covers band, so we thought it would be fun - and it was. But from the moment I walked in I was acutely aware that all the men in the place were staring at my bump. Really staring. They would stop dead in their tracks

Visa run

Five short weeks after sitting on the plane from Qatar to Abu Dhabi and exclaiming "I'm never setting foot in that country again as long as I live!" I was back in Qatar again yesterday on a visa run.

I had to do a visa run because N still doesn't have a visa, and I can't get a visa until he gets a visa. My marriage certificate, which I sent to the UK to be attested three weeks ago, is also required before I can get a visa, but that's unfortunately missing in action. Perhaps it's

Beauty therapy and hypnotherapy.

Today I cashed in my beauty salon voucher and had a half day of pampering. I bought the half day as a treat to myself, shortly before N and I had a 'chat' about our household budget. Unfortunate timing - but I'd already paid in full, so there was nothing for it but to go and enjoy myself - we can live without food for a couple of weeks...

So I had a mani/pedi, facial, neck and shoulder massage and a set of eyelash extensions. I didn't really know what the eyelash extensions entailed, but it sounded interesting. Turns out it involves sticking individual fake eyelashes to your existing eyelashes - one by one - for two hours - while a woman tells you to stop flinching. I had no idea - I hadn't

Expanding and shrinking

I'm shrinking! Or at least it feels that way, thanks to my latest hire car - a Peugeot 207. I remember the days of the Trailblazer - when I was king of the road in my monster truck. I considered 'downsizing' to the Kia Sportage a huge reduction in road presence - now i'm basically a sand mite in a desert of UAE 4x4s - but surprisingly I love it. I wouldn't go