My newest delusion of the week: 'Maybe its because I had dental issues'. While pregnant I had incredibly poor gums they seemed to bleed constantly, therefore I may have occasionally not brushed my teeth because they hurt. Yes on the top of my list was go to the dentist I was in fact awaiting my appointment. However shit happened and now my gums don't bleed but I am also not pregnant.
Lesson number nine: It probably wasn't my teeth (though i'm sure I will convince myself again at some point that it was)
Today has been hard, my husbands family decided to visit, all of them. Now I like his family, and so does he, and i'm generally not one to complain about good company, however, I really could not be bothered with a five hour visit. I was already tired from the day before after a particularly uncomfortable trip to have a pedicure. While originally I had enjoyed using the massage chair whilst having a pedicure, I had started to feel surprisingly claustrophobic (which I have never felt before) as the massage chair was going ape shit at my poor back, it felt as if it was going to beat me up and leave me for dead. I tried very eloquently, to explain to the lady scrubbing my hideous feet (ask any nurse about her feet) that it was a tad rough, unfortunately she didn't speak English, stupidly I tried to use pretend sign language to explain the situation, this resulted in the massage chair being turned up to a higher setting. I gave up and zoned out at the wall until I felt better. Needless to say I wont be going back for a pedicure for a while.
Lesson number ten: Apparently pedicures and massage chairs are a bad idea while physically recovering from a miscarriage (I mean your welcome to try it but perhaps not the massage chair ay?)
My poor midwife would despair, I have already been told off for a day trip to Ikea.
Regardless my husbands family spent the day sandwiching me in the middle of the sofa telling me I look tired. Meanwhile my husband was zoning out at the ceiling as we can only talk about the miscarriage for so long before we become emotionally drained. This all culminated in an angry trip to Morrison's, where my husband spent half an hour stomping around demanding cake and sweets like a child. On top of that to make me feel better, he told me I must be losing weight as my boobs are smaller. Thankyou very much. Dear husband (or what ever the internet folk call them)
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