I figure that Week 35 is as good as any for an official countdown to Chef and I joining Bec and Prof being officially outnumbered by their offspring (stop sniggering Bec, I can hear you through all those cross city tunnels, distributors, coat hangers all the way on the other side of this here great city).
So, at 35 weeks…
– I am incubating a rapper. The occasionally hard doof is far outnumbered by the almost consistent Footloose manouvres of grooving and moving this child engages in.
– I have gone up three bra sizes.
– I have officially reached the point in pregnancy when fashion flees.
– I have never, ever, in.my.entire.life. not felt like chocolate or coffee for so long.
– I have been doing a wee on average every 1hr45mins since 28 weeks.
– Apparently I’m glow. In fact, it is quite obscene just how much pregnancy does for my complexion, hair, nails and shiny eyes.
– I am officially excited about what this little creature is – not just whether its a boy or a girl, although that is occupying quite a bit of my brain at the moment as I have no feeling either way – but who and what they will be like as they grow up.
– I am actually quite nervous about the whole labour thing – two very different experiences are making the third seem like not such a great idea.
– I can not come at chicken in any form – except for an Oporto Rapper, of which I could eat one every.single.day. Go figure.
– I have never not been obsessed by food for so long in.my.life.
– I am so tired. All the time. And I know this isn’t a patch on the reality once it’s on the outside. That scares me.
– I am so grateful for paid maternity leave. And that annoys me. Because I shouldn’t feel grateful, it should be a natural right for every single woman like equal pay. But still, I am so very very grateful. (I can’t imagine my mental health issues if it wasn’t the case and we were facing losing a second income indefinitely for the third time).