So here I am, 37 weeks pregnant, just waiting...and waiting.
Christmas passed in a flurry of wine, cheese, shortbread cookies and carols. Last night officially marked the end of that period when our perfect Christmas tree was finally deflowered of its beautiful ornaments and hoisted unceremoniously out the second story window onto the deserted street below, where it joined other discarded trees.
As predicted, the monsters were spoiled. Not just by us (damn online shopping!) but by their many aunties, grandparents and family friends - nary a one who could turn up with a brightly wrapped parcel for the cheeky chappies. As a result, our household is now made up of 37% plastic and at any given time I have rubber bullets whizzing past my head, micro helicopters hovering up above and little remote controlled race cars zipping around by my ankles. But they are happy.
Dumpie has done a u-turn and is now excitedly awaiting the birth of his little baby brother. Not a day goes by that he doesn't come up to me (in public sometimes - which is excruciating) lift up my top and plant several heartfelt kisses on my swollen belly, murmuring little exclamations of love to his future little sibling.
Egg on the other hand has become more withdrawn about the whole issue and wears an air of resignation. Fair enough, as the eldest he has sussed out that another Dumps Mach 2 is a likely scenario and it's scaring the pants off him. Secretly too I suspect, he is stressed out by the whole 'naming' conundrum we find ourselves in. Again.
It's no secret that with Dumpie, we waited until literally the last day (three weeks after birth) that we could officially register his birth, and equipped with pad of paper and pen, were hastily scribbling and debating 'the name' on the bus all the way to the registry office, with amused passengers looking on.
I see a repeat of that. The husband is not terribly fond of the name the boys and I have chosen for the baby, and hence, is desperately trying to fling suggestions our way in the hope that one will stick. (Strangely he veers between rather bog standard North American names (yawn) and outrageous ones like 'Cauliflower' and 'Barabas'. The scary thing is, I don't think he's joking.)
Alas I have other things to worry about. Like the impending 'natural birth' I face - due to my abhorrant fear of needles, I.V., and all things epidural related (sigh). So it's going to be me, a husband fiddling about with his android phone and mini speakers, and a tube of gas and air which will provide my only distraction - likely in the form of violent vomiting if Egg's hospital water birth is anything to go by. Can hardly wait.