Throwing babies into bathwater

One of my favourite weekend pleasures is a good hot bath with a cup of tea and a pile of cookery books to leaf through.  I thus started my Sunday morning running steaming hot water into the tub and then, out of nowhere, a feeling of deep panic arose that in a very hot bath, I might boil the bean.  Is a lovely hot bath yet another thing I'm going to have to scratch off the agenda for the next nine eight months?  A quick google suggested that it's alright to have a soak so long as it's possible to climb into the water without turning bright pink and shrieking madly, which is apparently at a temperature of less than 36 degrees celsius.  I'm not sure my turkey thermometer is an appropriate device for measuring the temperature of bathwater, so my fellow beanmaker dipped his elbow into the water and declared the temperature appropriate.  I plunged excitedly into a lukewarm tub, felt cold and sorry for myself for 15 minutes and then clambered back out, grumbling.

I'm also feeling irritable because though the nausea, cramps and sore boobs seem to be on hold today, I am instead suffering (like all good hypochondriacs) from a rather dull, constant feeling of mild unwellness and as a result, am bored by the idea of just about anything I can possibly think of doing.  I feel full yet hungry at the same time and I just want to crawl into bed and wait for tomorrow.  Except tomorrow is Monday, and I definitely don't want that.

Today, it seems, I am determined to be annoyed by everything (except for my lovely hoovering husband).  It seems I am also determined to intend to indulge in it fully.