Wednesday, 1 February 2012
I am in the unenviable position of having to not only cart my heavily pregnant self out in public (trying my damnedest not to waddle or do that cringe-worthy ridiculous lope of the 'close-to-birth-brigade'...you know the one) but also to fend off enquiring eyes being raised every time I show up at the school gates STILL not with child (on the outside that is).
Maybe I brought it on myself by saying that I thought I'd pass my due date with nothing happening save dire acid reflux and up to a dozen loo visits a night. But secretly, yes, I still hope that every twinge is 'it' and that I'll soon be facially impaled upon a gas and air tube at the hospital.
At least I've finally managed to 'almost' pack my hospital bag. I don't know why I'm deliberating. Part of me can't be bothered, half thinking there is every chance that I might give birth in the bathtub here at home or in the back of a minicab en route. Or maybe it's just sheer exhaustion brought about by the senseless need to purge every single crammed cupboard in our home in an attempt to put the place to rights before the baby comes.
On Sunday I spent 8 hours (well I am a beauty product junkie) sorting through the contents of three huge cupboards in two bathrooms, doing an organisational job that would have had Martha Stewart weeping with envy. As a result I've spent the past few days blithely flipping open medicine cabinets each time i pass, just to observe the beauty of my handiwork. What? You think I've lost the plot? Oh bugger off you're just jealous.
Speaking of which, I have a kitchen cupboard just begging for a 'pregnant lady seeing to'...in fact it's taunting me behind my back...I can feel it. There is every chance that when I open the doors, the contents will come cascading all over my head. But then again, the shock might bring on labour. So bring it on I say.
Posted by "Moaning Mum" at Wednesday, February 01, 2012