I thought I’d better not come anywhere near this space today. Otherwise the moaning (not the good kind) would be shocking.
I’m not sure where people get the idea that a pregnant woman’s belly is an open access area. It’s almost as if they think that now that there’s a baby visibly in there, it’s no longer actually attached to rest of the body. My bump might as well have a “Touch me, love me, lick me” sign posted on it and marked spots for randomers to stick their territorial flags.
Waking up in a hurry is not one of my strengths as Laurence could tell you. There’s lots of moaning, groaning, dozing, jolting and complaining involved. In between all of that, I start checking my iPhone (bad habit, I know – it prolongs the process!). But yesterday, a Facebook message is what got me out of bed, fully alert and energized with a heady mix of confusion, amusement and righteous anger – make that rage.
Whenever I mention that I obsessively watch One Born Every Minute, someone wonders if this is my way of masochistically preparing myself for the inevitable.
Today marks six months of my body hosting the creature.
Tell me I will outgrow this.
My cousin’s wife started it. On a visit to Aberdeen back in November she gave me a bag full of 0-3month baby clothes and a bouncy chair.
It occurred to me on my way to an Alpha meeting last night that I should go all domestic goddess and make cakes for Laurence’s office today. It’s his birthday.
Trust family to bring you back to reality when you start gloating about even the most modest of things.
“Keep those blocks of ice away from me,” he says, “Why are your feet always so cold?”
Not wanting to stink up the space with what’s mostly on my mind, I didn’t blog much last week. But because this is an exercise in honesty, I’ve decided to put it out there. I’m afraid – you could say worried – about admitting that I am worried.
The ‘plan’ is to grow our own vegetables and keep the rest of the garden in a state fit for respectable people, we shall see. I think I’ve killed my poinsettia from Christmas. I’ve been warned to stay away from the basil plant. My mum will remember me moaning about having the water our millions of potted plants.