Nearing Due Date

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.

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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.

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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.

sad 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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…

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Autowash

I know handwashing uses less water, and also costs less.  But there’s just something so futuristic about the Autowash that I find completely compelling.

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Plus it gives me the opportunity to wear my Leeloo wig.

Office Hours

There’s a particular office that I have trouble with every time I need to contact them.  They never seem to have anyone in, they don’t respond to messages, they will tell you the wrong contact names for things, so that you are guaranteed to never get the assistance you need.  This is a private business, by the way, not governmental, even though it does sound rather like one from that description.  Anyway, I sent a query by email to them this morning, and received a polite response fairly promptly from one of their staff, but he ended the email rather more honestly than usual.

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Don’t sell yourself short mate, your office will be shit well into the new year.

My theory is that this guy is new there, and it has slowly been dawning on him how poorly run the whole operation really is.  But at the same time, he is now totally going to be my go-to guy, since he’s obviously the one with a finger on the pulse.  I bet he’s promoted before the year is out.  At least, I hope he is.

 

Honesty

It’s hard going anywhere with children.  They absorb everything.  Which is fine, and how they are supposed to learn things.  But they seem to be little walking stores of honesty, and then they pick the worst moments to let it out.  Sometimes it’s perfectly harmless, and even really cute. Image

 

Or it’s unpleasant but only in a mild way, and only manages to upset one person.

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Other times, it’s loud and in a public place and contains so much embarrassing information it’s hard to know how to react.

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For instance, at the supermarket.

Oh yeah, and after yelling that, she yelled out that she wanted me to rub her bum so it would be warm again.  I was too busy at the time wondering why she sat on the butter at all, and if anyone else was disturbed by that.

Sometimes they stealth it on you.  They start off being adorable and cute, and you let your guard down, and then they  throw a whopping curve ball.

And you’re left lost and bewildered wondering what just happened.  Hoping nobody else heard it.

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When you know damn well that they did.

But my favourite would be the cheerful logical conclusions they draw based on a premise that is unflattering to start with, and they usually save this type up for the end of the day, when you’re worn out and have no remaining energy or self-esteem left to cope with it.

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Well maybe “favourite” is the wrong word.

Those moments are precious.  

No, in fact, those moments are difficult.  

Change that.  Those moments are annoying.  And draining and embarrassing and occasionally frightening.

However in hindsight (say, much later when the sting has worn off) those moments are also hilarious.