I've no doubt already ranted about the French aftercare for mummies - physio for pelvic floor and the like. Well, my pelvic floor has now been passed fit and ready for duty, so it's on to my poor little deflated balloon belly (note: if you can make a sad face with your belly button, it's not a good sign...).
Still, it's nice the French medical system prescribe physio for postpartum tummies, so I shouldn't really complain!
(Although I was surprised I wasn't prescribed some sort religious help - the last rites and all that... I think my tummy might be well and truly finished).
However, I toddled along, wobbles and all, and was asked by the physio to work out on various machines - some I'd seen before (chest press) others a bit more unusual. Who knows? It might help.
I was heaving away in a room with several other ladies, most of whom seemed to be either limping or impaired in some way (so obviously more in need of physio than me), working out with various levels of intensity from weird wrist flapping to cycling on bikes.
One thing the physio impressed upon me is that it was important to breathe in a certain way, to ensure my stomach muscles knitted together, deep, deep breathing in and out as I strained against the weights...
Which was fine... until the effort from one of the other unfortunates obviously overrode their bowel function and a stagnant smell filled the room. We all carried on, despite the elephant (or elephantine fart) in the room, but we all knew what had happened. And it wasn't pretty.
And let's just say, deep breathing wasn't quite so tempting after that...
I've just been diagnosed properly with hypothyroidism, which is both a blessing and a curse... Because I've been SURE I've suffered with this for 10 years, but because of an issue with my TSH (which is the hormone they test in the first instance) it hasn't been picked up.
So, tiredness - check, anxiety - check, depression - check, exhaustion - check, psoriasis - check, low blood pressure (9 over 5) - check... all of these things that have made my life difficult for 10 YEARS could have been prevented, potentially with a little tablet. But will never know.
Finally, Ray (in his infinite wisdom) decided to assemble the boys' "big boy beds" yesterday when I was out taking 3 of 4 to the softplay centre... We'd bought these beds because they were in the sale and they were lovely. NOT because we thought the boys were ready.
I mean, if there was just one of them... maybe, but I was all for keeping them in cots to at least the age of 15.
Matters were taken out of my hands last night, as the cots were gone and beds had taken their place. Cue an evening of excited shrieks from the boys room, and free-running pj clad toddlers clattering around the upper floor...
But I will say this: ONCE they were asleep... they slept well... and Ray and I were up having a cuppa ON OUR OWN at 7.30am this morning! BOOM!
Please god let it continue. I was only up once in the night last night and hardly know myself! :)