I am really starting to drag myself around now. I now understand why you are not supposed to stand on chairs at this stage – I can just about stand on the ground without toppling. Rolling over in bed requires a manoeuvre not unlike a 3-point turn. I can’t imagine being able to work in this state or being able to look after a toddler, I must remember this if I ever get broody again. Aqua Natal classes have become something I look forward to, as the water takes all the weight instead of me and I do my double elbow roll bunny hops with glee.
The foetus is banging around inside my pelvis and I wish I could work out which way up it is so I could do exercises to try and turn it if it is breech. I am sure the midwives will call social services as soon as it is born as I spend so much time prodding it to work out its position, I am convinced it will come out with big finger shaped bruises on it. Or paw prints, as the cat does insist on trying to balance on the bump. Pretty much everything is ready at home now, my boyfriend has been nagged into finishing off the decorating I can’t do and I even lined the moses basket with something decidedly non frilly.
Just because I am pregnant it does not mean that I am interested in babies. I am pretty sure that I will love mine, and it will be The Only Baby in the World, but assuming that I care about other peoples babies is silly. It’s like assuming that everyone who buys a bunch of flowers has a season ticket to Chelsea Flower Show and a well tended herbaceous border. The only trouble with this lack of enthusiasm is that I cannot at this stage imagine going to mother and baby groups. There is only so much of ‘oh is he crawling yet, what a lot of hair’ stuff I can do without screaming. This means that I will not have the support of other mothers who quite rightly will hate me, and that my sprog will grow up a social recluse. We went to a party at the weekend (daytime, no smokers!) and I feigned interest in peoples babies, ok they looked pretty clean, gurgled a bit etc, but there is no cute trigger in my system, nothing whatsoever that makes me go ‘ahh’. However, on the way back to the car we passed a run full of chickens. I waddled over to admire their shiny feathers, clear eyes and inquisitive beaky faces and made all the appreciative noises that I find so difficult to apply to babies. I am formulating a plan to pretend that all babies are chickens, but have to find some phrases that will do for both so I don’t get caught out admiring scaly legs or full crops.
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