Tired, tired, tired. I’ve been telling Mark that I’m good for exactly three things over the course of the day: 1) I can make dinner. 2) I can make sure Oscar does his schoolwork. 3) I can perform exactly one other act of housekeeping. After that, I’m done. I’m sitting with my feet up and a big glass of red raspberry leaf tea and resting. Last Saturday I went back to bed right after breakfast and slept until three o’clock.
Last week when the midwife pricked my finger for the hemoglobin check, I took one look at the drop of blood, went pale and dizzy, and needed to lie down. I’ve never reacted that way to the sight of blood before! Precious, precious blood. Turns out my hemoglobin measured just about 10 g/dL — normal levels in pregnancy are 11-12 g/dL. I don’t think I’ve ever had such low iron. Not surprising.
Mark took the boys to the co-op and came back with packages of bright red steaks and bags of dried apricots and bunches of fresh spinach. Also some liverwurst, and yellow mustard and crackers to eat it with. And a bottle of Floradix. I promised to eat some red meat and green leafy vegetables every day.
I feel better, after only a week. Maybe the improvement’s all in my head. Give me the strongest placebo you’ve got. I’m still not doing more than one act of housekeeping a day, though.
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