People/books/blogs say that around this time the body knows the baby is coming soon so you get an urge to ‘nest’. Bollocks. There’s a flipping date in the calendar – my brain knows the baby is coming soon and there’s a great long list of things to do before our house/lives are even a bit ready for an infant. And the list keeps getting longer. Every time I cross something off, I think of something new. Also, I’m not sure that ‘nesting’ is supposed to mean tearing-the-nest-apart-and-building-a-new-one, because that’s pretty much what we’ve been up to the past few weeks. There was a point last week when all our bedroom furniture was in the dining room and I knew that if Alan were to choose that moment to arrive, I’d prefer Jeremy to be home cleaning than with me at the hospital.
On Tronald:
On working:
After today, assuming Alan isn’t early, I have 5 more days in the office. That’s still too many days, but it used to be 46 days so if I can do 41 I can do the remaining 5... more or less. I’m not massively uncomfortable most of the time except after sitting at my desk for 5 hours at which point my feet and ankles swell up like I’m on an airplane and whatever trousers I’m wearing forget they’re supposed to be maternity trousers. At this point I normally just give up and go home.
On ‘sleeping’:
I wonder if it’s nature’s way of preparing me for what’s coming / making the transition easier, or if it’s just mean and horrible. I sleep on the very edge of what’s possible with sleep, on the very skin of sleep, at times painfully aware that I can’t swim down into the depths, that I need to bob around on the surface . And then I’m awake and if I’m awake then I need to pee because I always need to pee and then I’m bobbing around in some pretense of sleep again and then it’s morning. But I seem to be able to bear it better than I would have before, so maybe there’s some hope in there.
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