As many of you are aware, my official due date was yesterday. Y.e.s.t.e.r.d.a.y.
I thought it was kinda starting on Saturday and stupidly got myself a little psyched that one out of four – and the last at that – would arrive on their official due date.
Of course, everytime I farted or went to the toilet, the symptoms subsided.
This morning I dozed from 2 to 5am with impressive braxton hicks and thought that might result in something.
Kirsti (my midwife) even did an internal to see if that could get things going, but the head is so high up in my cervix she didn’t really pursue it. Thank GOD. It was not comfortable to say the least.
Anyway, after that we headed into Chatswood, the arse-end of Sydney’s North Shore in that it is just shopping mall on shopping mall.
Chef was all, what do you want to do, whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, it’s all about you. Bless him.
I just felt like being out. In society. Which I will totally contradict below, but I’m nothing at the moment if not contradictory.
So we wandered through David Jones. Looking at saucepans. And other homewares type things.
We glimpsed the TV section but eugh. Too much choice and such rampant consumerism was doing nothing for my equally rampant heartburn.
We went to the sensational Chinese BBQ Kitchen for lunch where I vacuumed down some duck, rice, bbq pork and one of the divine gow-gees in Chef’s soup.
Then I just needed to be at home.
My carpal tunnel has actually got worse, something I didn’t think possible, in that I now can not grip anything with my left hand and it’s a struggle with my right. It’s actually quite a bizarre sensation and reality in that changing nappies, preparing meals, lifting the kettle and so on and so forth are nearly impossible. Nice.
My sciatica is impressive and there are patches on my thighs which feel cold and numb.
The ligament pain is still not a patch on what I endured in my previous three pregnancies, which is a phenomena I’m finding quite weird. Maybe those three months of gym work I did after Jasper actually did something? Who knows.
But apart from all that, I’m not actually ‘over it’ or wishing the baby was out and all of that. I originally started this post as an absolute tirade – a beautiful case study in pregnant crank – but now am just tired and feeling quite withdrawn. Insular. Introverted.
But on the other hand, I’m craving contact and communication – I guess it takes my mind off the inevitable and also gives me some level of normalcy to act as a base point. Or something.
But I am growing increasingly intolerant of people ringing asking how I am, is that baby still on the inside… hohoho, to call them the minute something starts happening, telling me which day is good for them blah blah blah.
I know they all mean well. I know they are just trying to lighten the moment. I know I should be so grateful that there are so many people who love me. I know. I KNOW.
But truthfully? I just want to tell them all to fuck off and pull their collective heads in. That they will all have a lifetime to get to know this little person. That while they’re all dying for that first cuddle, I’m facing the reality of bleeding bits, sore tits, no sleep and a MASSIVE adjustment for me as a person and helping that same adjustment happen as smoothly as possible for every single member of our family and I’m just a little FREAKED OUT about that at the moment and so maybe just giving me some SPACE and quitting with the “call me straight away”s and the rest would be nice. Oh and that IF.THEY.ARE.FUCKING.RELATED.TO.ME as IF I’m not going to call them when labour starts. Little do they know the more they FUCKING ASK the later into the labour they’ll be getting the call. Yes, I am a cold-hearted, ungrateful, selfish witch.
(and low, it came to pass that the pregnant crank escaped and yet again relied heavily on gratuitous swearing.)
You see, while I’m quite willing to spill my guts to you all and talk about my bits and everything else I should probably keep to myself, when it comes to having a baby, surprisingly I don’t need a cast of thousands in attendance.
I am feeling this very keenly this time around. Part of me just wants to withdraw from the world and just soak in the juices that is my world of Chef and the boys. To just ‘be’ with them. This baby is so going to be our last and I want, no, I NEED it to be a private, calm and intimate time with Chef and my children.
And yet I’m sitting here wondering why I find it so easy to write yet so difficult to say.
And next week, when I write a post wailing about how no-one came to see me in hospital, how no-one is ringing me and how no-one cares and I’m all alone, just direct me back to this.
And just so you all know…
it’s Grover George if it’s a boy
it’s Matilda Elizabeth if it’s a girl.
For everyone in the “but Grover’s a muppet” camp. Yes. Yes he is. And a mighty cool muppet at that.
It seems a lifetime ago that we saw our first glimpse:
We can’t wait to meet you little one.