and for the finale

as part of my last-day-for-18-weeks I thought it’d be good to have a show, and not the kind with curtains, encores and showering of love and affection. (come on, I’ve been mulling this over for hours – how to elude to the mucus plug without actually using those words. Although it wasn’t so much mucus – for once – but pink stain…I know, I shall move to obgynorama shortly)

I can’t remember if I had a similar matinee with Felix – again just to torment me as he wouldn’t budge until that needle was in my vein and the drugs were pumping.

But all day I had excellent braxton hicks and good period pains that peaked, ebbed, flowed and everything in between. Tonight they were getting quite impressive to the point I had to walk around and was more comfortable standing and rocking watching The Motorcycle Diaries than lying on the lounge. (Aside: Sweet mercy on my soul but Gael García Bernal does for duck lips what Kristin Scott Thomas and Penelope Cruz can only dream of achieving.) Chef was all “do I need to call in my reserves?” and “do we need to be leaving now?” – quite an achievement for a) my final day at work (talk about effective use and maximising return of maternity leave) and our e.i.g.h.t. year wedding anniversary (celebration: my saying “I don’t care what we do but I need you to take charge as I’m getting hungrier and therefore crankier as each minute ticks by” – and Chef reaching for the takeaway menus and asking what kinda video I wanted to watch).

Anyway, then I had the overwhelming desire to sleep. So did so on the lounge and moved to bed at aroudn 10. I woke at 12 ish and here I sit.

No action, no activity, no progress.

Welcome to Kim’s world of late pregnancy torment.