Our last few days in Bali were lovely (stomach issues aside)- we left Medewi and headed down to Rob’s old stomping ground, Canggu. Even in the two years we have been away from there, it has developed into an almost unrecognisable hipster-mecca of yoga shalas, clothing boutiques and co-working spaces nestled amongst vibrant rice paddies. Every other moped was driven by a white person, and every other warung sold pitaya bowls. The diversity was nice after a week in Medewi, and as I was still suffering, it was just nice to be back somewhere a little more western.
I ate smoothie bowls at Echo Beach watching bodyboarders get smashed and sunbathers get drenched, and the boys surfed Berawa. Rob got a gorgeous navy cotton 3 piece suit fitted and made in 24 hours for a grand total of £50 We tried to spend our last rupiahs on a heap of tat and souvenirs and then it was time to fly home
We flew Emirates, because we thought we’d treat ourselves on our last long hauler. EMIRATES! We have been flying Air Asia and Eastern China this whole time so Emirates Economy was bound to be luxury. And it was- on our second leg (Dubai to London), we basically had an A380 to ourselves. We took a middle row of four seats each and slept, horizontally with six cushions, four blankets and Finding Dory. I’d pre-ordered a low-fat meal, partly because of my tummy bug (nothing greasy or rich) and partly I just wanted mine to come out first. And all the free gin and tonics you could want! Alas, #pregnant.
Despite the private jet and first-serve meals, flying’s a bitch, I swell up like a puffer fish and yet feel as dehydrated as a prune simultanously. At least Emirates hosties dont give you the evils for asking for water every 10 minutes. Have you ever worn compression socks for 24 hours? And my bladder, which at the best of times has the capacity of an egg cup, plus Bali Belly meant I spent as much time in the toilet as I did in my seat. Honestly, I have as much respect for air hostesses as for fire fighters and paramedics. Flying is right now at the very top of my list of Things I Would Not Willingly Put Myself Through Again. (Although I thoroughly expect this will change in say, oh, 22 weeks or so.)
I had a doctors appointment the day after we landed, a huge relief after the ordeal of the last 10 days. I weighed in at 1.2kg less than what I was at 12 weeks. The doctor wanted poop samples (one word- How?), gave my the flu jab, and assured me that Spud is the best little parasite that ever there was, and even intense diarreah is not too harmful as long as I’d stayed hydrated. Of course, I didn’t beleive him, so I asked him to dig out his most supersonic stethoscope and see if he could just check in with my baby. He listened while holding my pulse and assured me he could hear two separate circulations going on- I thought that was such a funny way of putting it- not a heartbeat, an entire circulation. I’m making an entire universe.
Friday night, we headed down to Mum’s pride and joy, a static caravan, or chalet on the south coast. The forecast was good and my little brother was due over from his residential college on the Isle Of Wight for the weekend. I was enjoying just being home and mothered again, eating all the food, using all of the hot water, going through all my old clothes that I left behind on the off chance I might fit into them again one day. General going-home-to-parents stuff. Rob did amazingly well right from the off fitting into my slightly neurotic family, and it was with only the slightest bit of trepidation I left him with my Dad for the afternoon for the first time!
We walked the dog, the boys got the kayaks out, everyone ate too much chinese food and we watched Strictly Come Dancing for the first time in 3 years. It was perfect! I went to bed early, with a bit of a niggle in my head, leaving Rob with my parents drinking red wine and G&T’s and telling him (no doubt embarrassing) stories. On Sunday morning, however, I was the one who woke with a huuuge headache. I’ve never had one before, so I’m not sure I’m qualified to call it, but I think it was my first migraine.
I fought the paracetamol Rob offered me, and spent the day feeling sorry for myself, lying on my side, drinking copious amounts of water and sleeping. The next morning, the beginning of week 18, it was gone, as suddenly as it had come. On to the next, then, and fingers crossed for an easier week…