Oh god, there’s a bloody great baby inside me! I thought I’d better think about getting somewhere for this thing to sleep when it no longer sleeps inside me. Whatever it is it will be placed next to the bed, as the idea of having to get out of bed and clamber through the minefield of clothes, books, cat, phone etc. that lead to the room that could, I suppose, be a nursery somehow does not appeal to me. My mother recommends getting it something small as babies like to feel enclosed when they are new. I am quite fatalistic about the whole shopping for the baby thing and I decide to buy the cheapest safest thing that kisses me on the nose first. Although I intend to get something secondhand I have toyed with the idea of going to Mothercare to look at new cots. I am allergic to the place though, it’s both sinister and fluffy at the same time so I try the wonderful Internet and decide to leave it for a month or two as its all getting a bit too real to deal with now.
Fascinating fact of the week; a chicken is ready to lay eggs when you can fit two fingers between her bum bones. According to Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin
(the book I am reading as an antidote to the awful ante-natal class) a woman is big enough to get a baby out when you can fit a fist between her bum bones. So, we are only two fingers wider than a chicken. Hmm.
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