D-Day is here. My baby is going to be born in THE NEXT FEW DAYS!!!!!

38 Weeks Pregnant

Baby Size : Length of a leek, about 6.5 pounds

How I'm Feeling : Loving being busy, the company of hubby and friends, all food as long as I don't have to cook and naps.  Naps are the best.  

The Bitch Is Back.  Craaaaaaaaap.  That hormone riddled, moodier, under-confident-part-time-socialite-part-time-dark-empty-room-loving-introvert is back in my life.  I refer of course to the pre second-trimester-hormone-influx me.  I liked new pregnancy hormone me.  This positive, confident, go-getter was growing on me, where is she gone? If I could manufacture 2nd trimester hormones and sell them, I’d go for it Breaking Bad style. I mean, unlike Walt, I’d be constantly off my face and a full on addict of course but to be honest, it might just be worth it.  Those hormones are awesome, I promise you.  Everything you’ve been putting off, everything that needs cleaning, everything that needs tidying, everything that just takes a bit of momentum to get going, everything that needs saying to so-and-so and whats-his-name, it just gets done! This week however, I’ve had days like a teenager that’s been ditched by the prom king.  Napoleon Dynamite style, I’m moping about from room to room being vaguely productive, but not in the way I want to be! Bump is oiled and out, sciatica is making me hobble, hormones are making me stick my bottom lip out sulkily for no reason at all. Think The Gruffalo, with an Irish accent. 

I’ve been putting off buying maternity/nursing bras, as my boobs still haven’t got much bigger (damn) so when I finally went to buy some, I wanted to vomit on them. Firstly, they’re way more expensive than most and secondly, they’re fecking ugly! I have even scoured John Lewis for pretty ones, and other than one lacy number, I failed miserably.  There’s no underwire, they don’t provide any cleavage help, they’re straight across the top like a bad army boob tube and they look like things that will shrivel up, and go grey (no matter what their original colour) in the wash. In other words, no matter which one I buy, I’ve got a granny bra on: a humongous, off-white, cotton, boulder holder.  Now put The Gruffalo in one of those and see how sexy he feels. 

We had another little trip to Mothercare this week.  We have realised we still don’t really know a lot.  Can baby sleep in a ‘gro-bag’ when he arrives or is it blankets?  Simple questions like this all demand a YouTube search. It’s time consuming stuff.  My amazing mommy friend sent me blankets with holes in them.  This might sound counter productive for a blanket I hear you say, but NO! They must have holes in so baby can breathe if it goes over his head.  Fairly common sense stuff you might think, but NO.  This is not my kind of common sense.  I have the common sense of an actor, I naturally find my light, I naturally hold the mic in the right way, I naturally have decent character instincts, follow direction well and I naturally hear harmony easily.  I do not naturally know what the hell a baby sleeps in or needs in life! It is not intrinsically in my make up.  I didn’t know there was a difference between vests and all in ones.  I just thought one was for summer and one for winter, NO, they wear them ALL AT THE SAME TIME.  I thought he’d be roasting but NO! Babies are colder than us and need hats, cardigans and scratch mittens.  I wasn’t thinking about his nail care! I barely think about my own nail care.  You must bite off the nails I hear, great, so that’s another thing I don’t like that I have to put in my mouth…  I refer of course to a previous post about swallowing poo, you dirty minded cretan. 

Mothercare is like the Aliens films.  You embark on this wondrous voyage of learning and discovery.  It is the trusty home ship where you go to gain knowledge.  It’s where things will start to make sense as you explore new worlds and unearth all the mysteries they offer. It holds all the cargo you need to survive. Slowly however, you come to understand that not everyone is on your side.  People have ulterior motives.  You have a vague sense you’re being manipulated and being dragged down a path you had no intention of going down.  Before you know it, a sales rep has convinced you to follow him into the depths of the store and you find yourself surrounded by strange pods.  They’re everywhere! You don’t know what they are, there are thousands of them, all different shapes, sizes, multi-purpose, single-purpose, cots, sleepyheads, bassinettes, Moses baskets, prams, buggies, pushchairs.  Everything in your gut tells you to run screaming far far away but something deep inside tells you that you mustn’t show any fear.  You must back out of there cautiously, slowly, determinedly with the safety firmly off your defence mechanism.  Ripley had a massive gun, we had our polite tongues ‘ah thanks very much…em, we’re just going to have a think about that (what? What the feck IS that? It’s indecipherable!!!) and come back, thanks very much, ya, ya, ya, ya, oh ya the bugaboo is great ya, absolutely, thanks…’ RUUUUUUUUUNNNNN!!!! I haven’t even got to the part where something bursts out of my belly.  Ripley had a giant yellow machine/man thing to combat her Alien with.  I just have my boobs and holey blankets.  This hardly seems fair. 

It’s about 99% certain that I’m having a caesarean section.  Unless he miraculously turns on his own, I’m all booked in for Friday July 3^rd.  I had an ECV this week, which is a delightful ‘mildly uncomfortable’ (like hell it is!) bruise inducing procedure where they give you a drug to relax the womb and try to turn the baby from the outside. Two consultants had a go, as the little bugger is stubborn as a mule and wouldn’t move.  His head is still firmly under my ribs, you can see it sticking out, and he didn’t move an inch.  I'm focusing on the positives of a c-section.  I'm thinking this mainly involves not having to go through the prolonged potentially days long pain of natural labour, but also, no perineum slicing!  Wohoo! I think it's great there will be no scalpels moving towards my arse any time soon. My vagina will remain safe and perky and not end up like road kill.  Ah, sweet relief. But this also means it’s not TWO weeks to go.  It’s ONE week to go! I think it’s finally hitting me.  I have to start reading the books.  It’s not enough to have them posed artfully by the bath, the bed, in my bag etc.  I actually have to study them.  I think I am a hell of a lot closer to understanding this baby thing than I was when I started this blog, but I have a long way to go. Major surgery, a minimum three-day hospital stay and attempted breast-feeding - as well as meeting this little man who’s going to turn my life upside down - awaits.  Right now I’m thinking LETS DO THIS… Lets see how I’m feeling next Thursday night….