Second trimester blues

Why is the second trimester so very, very long?

Why is the second trimester so very, very long? I feel ready to give birth NOW. Saturday night’s night out involved, among other things, a romantic conversation about C-sections and the merits thereof. I have been told that an elective one is not as bad as the very vivid memory I have of the emergency one I had with rebel daughter which seemed to take me an eternity to recover from. I guess I would prefer the natural route, which I had with the other two, but the fact that the doctor suggested the C-section as the first option has made me think. I am not one of those people who is really into the whole birth is beautiful thing. I never felt that I didn’t bond as much with my first daughter because I had a C-section. In fact, the thought that we had both narrowly escaped death made me feel slightly more bonded if anything. I just want to get the baby out alive and with as few after-effects as possible since I have to return to work shortly afterwards when the Statutory Maternity Pay plummets after six weeks.

I have been reading Miriam Stoppard’s book of birth or whatever it’s called with rising eyebrows. In addition to counselling that you stop work at 32 weeks [I have never even considered this as a possibility or ever seen anyone else do it], it also informs me not to drive more than 30 miles from home after the second trimester. One of my jobs is a good 40 miles from home. Oh dear. Am I supposed to use the whole six-week 90% rate SMP up before the baby is even born?
She also advises that the second trimester is when you feel most sensual. I am still waiting for this to happen. Last night I woke up at 4am as big girl daughter had wet the bed and then lay awake for two hours feeling horribly emotional. Not entirely conducive to feelings of intense sensuality. 
I would love to have a couple of months off to sleep – obviously this would not involve a lie-in as there is still the school run to do [was late as usual yesterday, later than usual as some truck decided to dig up the road at 8.50am and then again at 4pm when I do the football/ballet run], but I could sleep my way through the late morning hours. I could "prepare the nursery" [ie move a few boxes in our room to make way for a cot]. I could take a crash course in angles and deliver a maths master class for rebel daughter. I could burn disc after disc of Alvin and the Chipmunk songs for big girl daughter and make a whole array of baby equipment from tinfoil and cardboard boxes with the bonkers one. I could take part in the adult learning make games with your kids course at school, which my mum is currently booked onto in loco parentis [she came home with dice and a number game yesterday]. I could write a book or even read a couple. I could spend some quality time with the cat. I could offer mediation services to the endlessly warring guinea pigs. I could clean the house [note: this is very low down on my priority list]. The possibilities are endless. 

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