So I’m still pregnant. The baby is fully cooked, and I have become completely, COMPLETELY obsessed with wondering whether I am in labour or not. It’s shocking, and very disturbing.
My emotions are in tatters; I spent last Friday careening between laughing manically and ugly crying while my mother and sister looked on, completely helpless. The episode was prompted by a woman where I get my eyebrows done not giving me an appointment when I wanted it. I mean, COME ON. The crying leaked into Saturday when the fella’s Mum called over and I burst into tears for NO REASON WHATSOEVER, all the while assuring her that I REALLY AM QUITE HYSTERICAL. As if she couldn’t tell.
Yesterday my tear ducts dried up, thank the lord. The fella and I went for an early morning walk to try to get things moving… the only thing we realised is that we have eaten so many packets of chocolate biscuits over the last nine months that it makes a simple walk pretty hard. Yes. It’s true.
So, in between monitoring the mild periody cramps I’m getting (for the last WEEK) and frantically googling “does a contraction feel like….” I am completely demented. Completely. I am hoping that the little fella will arrive in the next few days, but my instincts are so shot at this point that I don’t trust myself at all. AT ALL.
One thing I do know is that on Friday I am due to have an internal examination by the cruel lady doctor. If my son loves me at all he will arrive before this – stupid I know, since I will be going through a much more invasive experience pushing him out, but I really don’t want her interfering down there. So pray people, PRAY that the little fella fancies a birthday this week. It would make a would-be Mammy very VERY happy indeed.