I’m now 37.5 weeks pregnant. This means when someone (aka everyone) asks me “how long to go?” I can honestly say “any day now!” I even say it cheerfully, because nobody likes a downer.
But honestly, between the unending braxton hicks “practice” contractions and an element of apprehension while waiting for the “real” contractions, I have decided that the waiting game sucks.
Sometimes people say “you must be sick of it by now” (oh yes, indeed I am). Usually women say this. Women who have had children. Because let’s face it, pregnancy does drag on for an insane amount of time.
I’m lucky that I am the kind of person who can keep myself busy. But not this close to the due date. I don’t want to start anything new, can’t really plan anything, don’t want to book myself in for anything, and don’t even really want to venture too far from home, in case I end up labouring in, say, a shopping centre, or a swamp full of gnats, leeches and crocodiles somewhere. Or god forbid, a shopping centre full of gnats, leeches and crocodiles. *shudder*. (Well, this IS Australia. Things happen.)
So to distract my terrible imagination from wearing me down, I try to keep as busy as can be. I’ve done the usual things, assembled the change table and cot, washed all the baby linen (twice!), filled in endless amounts of relevant and/or outstanding paperwork for just about everything under the sun. And now the urgent, difficult, relevant things are done.
This leaves me with little option but to FIND things to do. Often far out of balance to what still needs to be done. And at the expense of regular tasks.
Like sweeping the back yard concrete.
Can’t remember the last time I swept indoors though. Huh.
There are times when my energy levels are so high I actually accomplish nothing, because I’m racing around manically, from task to task, my extreme-multitasking skills about as organised as a balloon in a tornado.
Always followed by bouts of fatigue. So a *kind* of balance is achieved.
During the low points, I have trouble entertaining myself, because everything I do seems to trigger an oxytocin-induced sob-fest. Even TV. No, especially TV.
Pictured: pregnant person watching advert for tax accountants
Generally these mood swings elicit the comfort response in others. This rarely goes the way they expect.
That’s right, Sunshine, back away slowly. And don’t come back until you have burritos.
Between all this, the usual functions of the day are also skewed out of recognition. So much so that it’s like being back in the first trimester of pregnancy again. Some days you can’t get enough to eat, others you do nothing more than play with your food.
One of these two will NOT be getting any dessert this evening.
The main feature of the last few weeks, however, has been my renewed interest and energy in long-forgotten projects that have been outstanding since before we moved house.
Never get so much done as when you forget you have kids.
But the due date looms closer and I am running out of distractions. Which is probably just as well, because I am also increasingly dizzy as the days go by.
I want to sit down, but I have forgotten how to chair. Or how to gravity, for that matter.
So I have my fingers crossed that this will all be behind me soon, because I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. And I am fairly sure that the family are just as sick of it as I am.
So with any luck the next post will be about a brand new baby (girl or boy, we just don’t know). Because it really is going to be any day now…