29 Weeks Pregnant
Baby size : Butternut Squash
How I Feel : Cocky and afraid of being cocky, it can’t possibly be this smooth a journey can it?*
Catheters. Like Spiders - ungoogleable. There might be IMAGES. Images somewhere of small tubes going into small holes. I don’t want to think about that. At all. I used to sing for and brow beat lovely grannies into exercising in care homes all over London, and if there was an accompanying bag, I would never under any circumstances make eye contact with it. Now, a catheter might be put inside me in order to get baby out. You see, during birth, baby might block my bladder causing it to overfill and stretch - not good in the long run apparently. Look, I know that those of you who have had babies will be laughing at me. A little teeny tiny tube will be the least of my worries when there’s a HUMAN coming out of my vagina. For some unfathomable reason, I can cope with thoughts of labour (maybe I’m in denial) but it’s all the little details that are terrifying. Maybe I shouldn’t be attending these antenatal classes at all. Maybe it’s best to fly blind and stay ignorant to catheters and perineum slicing. I would be innocently and blissfully happy. I could just waltz up to the hospital, bottle of prosecco in hand and proclaim to the midwife ‘sweety, give me all the drugs and go to town down there’. Like a really jaded prostitute. No?
My Mom told me last night that all three of us siblings came between two and four weeks early. FEAR! This baby is simply not allowed to come early, does he not know I have a LIST???!!! Early babies do not necessarily run in families, but of course my mind is now fully expecting baby mid June instead of mid July. I’ll still be doing a west end show. I can see it now, I’m dressed as my vile unglamorous canteen lady with a greasy ginger wig and a hair net, sitting spread eagle (that’s how she sits) down stage, and my waters break all over the front row. Nearly fifteen hundred gleefully horrified audience members look on while two drenched ones writhe in internal bodily fluid disgust! I try and make it look like it’s all part of the show and flawlessly achieve this with an inspired monologue about canteen lady oppression before breaking into ‘When The Levee Breaks’ by Led Zeppelin. I might be overthinking this slightly.
In a 13 point list update (find this in my blog bio), things are getting crossed off! Yay! I’ve had some great work meetings, we’re about to agree on a completion date on the house (cross everything) and driving lessons are going well. In fact, everything is going well. When everything is going well the temptation to go into blind panic mode is strong. All the disaster scenarios flash in and out of my mind. Pregnancy can’t be this straight forward can it? I’ve heard all the horror stories, why are none of them happening to me? I really feel I should be doing five Hail Mary’s and seven Our Fathers to even things out. Catholic guilt has a lot to answer for. Jaysus.
What I have gained from this ease of creating life, is a new found appreciation of my body. ‘I’ am doing absolutely nothing, zero, zilch. I’m just carrying on with my life. My body however is a fricking superstar! It’s just getting on with it, no fuss, no drama, nothing, it’s just being awesome. I’m flinging gratitude about like a lasso just now because I know that it could have been very different for me. It still could become really different for me so gratitude, gratitude, gratitude is the name of the game.
So yes, my body seems to love pregnancy. The only things that aren’t cooperating are my boobs. They haven’t gotten any bigger, isn’t that supposed to be one of the perks? This week they have sprung into action mind you, not getting bigger, but producing some sort of cheese!!! It was after a shower I noticed it, a weird discolouration on my nipples that on closer inspection, turned out to be tiny lumps of cheesey stuff. What the hell is that??? Now I have read that colostrum (your first milk) might make an appearance this week but no one said anything about being a fecking cheddar factory. I had to prize them off, like scrapings off a grater, without breaking my nipples. I felt like an alien cow. I suppose it does make sense, obviously cheese comes from milk but, really? I had been joking in work, that when I do make an appearance to our final show party in September, that the White Russians are on me!!! Breast milk and vodka - mmmmm. I didn’t realise I’d be able to supply the bloody cheese board as well.
*Onion bhaji alert! Did feel nauseous this morning but OK now so I’m putting it down to the onion bhaji’s and pint of milk I had at 11pm last night.