Since the day I stopped work - now 1 month ago, life has changed irrevokably.The commute has been replaced by putting the washing on; meetings exchanged for downloading recipes and baking; project plans for shopping to do lists. I sit here - now 1 day overdue - in my holding pattern, before the event that will really rock our world.
Each night I sit with my husband Aex and we watch the fairly violent kicking distorting my belly. I'll say "there's a big baby in there and it's got to come out somehow". "bloody hell" we say aloud or think it. "aghhh" says alex, and we smile with excitement at the same time as pondering with that apprehension and terror. We are sitting on the precipice and we know it.
It's January - not a bad month to do very little - but not working is very strange - I've been wracked with sub conscience guilt that I'm skiving off sick, or should be looking for a job. Each day my to do list gets thinner and I'm fearful that I will lose an afternoon or 2 to some rubbish mindless daytime tv. I am however completely ok with losing an afternoon to good tv, made possible by recording anything decent through the night on sky +.
Yesterday felt like my birthday - it was in fact my due date. Texts rolled in - anything happening? It's a no -win situation - call or text back and the recipient is convinced you have some news - stay quiet and they are sure you are starting the long process. But it is nice to reconnect with so many people who are thinking of you, especially those who have been off the radar themselves since having kids, but now you are almost in their club, and have at least discovered their language thanks to NCT classes.
I have to say my pregnancy been's pretty good. Aside from this growing bond with my hubby pre becoming our own little family unit - Good things in chronological order include: guilt free greed;healthy thick hair, easy tanning on summer hol; de pressured work environment; seats on train; no hangovers; not lifting a finger at christmas; lie ins; small talk conversation with strangers.
Bad stuff they don't really tell you about:
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