Like most people these days, I live pretty fast. Anyone who runs their own business – or indeed knows anyone who runs their own business – will know that it’s a 24-hour-a-day, 365-days-a-year nightmare. Don’t get me wrong: I love my job – well, bits of it, anyway – but it’s not exactly conducive to leading a relaxed lifestyle. Or having friends. Or sex. Or sleep.
Pregnancy, however, doesn’t care for your sixteen hour days. Nor does it hold any truck with your late nights or your erratic eating patterns. In fact, just applying yourself to ten minutes of concerted thinking is completely out of the question. And it’s brilliant!
Never before have I been forced to feel so relaxed, all of the time. I know that by 3pm, by batteries have run down and that’s that, so I get most of my important work done in the morning and early afternoon. Then TB and I go and get some fresh air when my “morning” sickness kicks in. Yesterday, we went to the park to watch the sunset until my feet got cold (I suppose TB was still quite cosy in there). I even took ten minutes when I got back to warm them up in a bowl of hot water; I can’t remember the last time I was that good to myself! I eat well – anything that isn’t nailed down, actually – and take regular breaks from work, sometimes even naps. I’m so exhausted that I’m in bed by 9.30 every night come what may. I don’t think I’ve ever lived quite so healthily.
And the strangest thing is, my productivity at work has improved ten-fold! For the last two years, I’ve been running around, stropping, screaming, crying, rushing, trying to get everything done and being convinced there aren’t enough hours in the day, and it turns out that all I needed to do was sit on my arse more. Who knew?