I'm not sure what is filling me up the most... the baby or my dinner. There's hardly room for the both of them in there. Baldrick the blob is now wedged firmly between my pelvis and my ribs with little room for shifting. This doesn't stop him from trying, however and the constant parade of elbows, knees, feet and fingers pushing their way around my anatomy feels like my innards are participating in their very own aerobics class. Of particular delight is the feeling of little fingers tickling the inside of my back. According to the pregnancy books, he now has finger nails and I wonder what the odds are of those little tickly fingers clawing their way out... clearly I read too many horror books when I was young...
The upside of this is that for the first time in my life I have excellent posture as I cannot slouch in any way, shape or form without getting a small bony backside lodged firmy in my sternum. The downside of course is that if he is this big already, how on earth am I going to cope with his growth over the next 4 weeks - the weeks in which (according to all those books) he is going to put on the most weight?
Gone are my ideals of hitting the gym until 9 months pregnant - the victim of a foot injury incurred on a faulty pedal strap on a stationary bicycle. Gone are my goals of 'no empty calories' as the last two weeks has seen an 'oh fuck it' attitude sneak in and ice-cream and pizza have re-entered my diet. Gone, therefore is my goal of putting on no more than 24 pounds this pregnancy as I have now hit 28 and rising. The final victim in this campaign is my desire to push out a nice, compact baby of no more than 7 pounds as I am certain that I am about to push out a 10 pound fatty arbuckle of a child.
I mean, I am no dwarf. There's quite a long space between my pelvis and my rib cage. Quite a lot of room in there. If he's butting up against the limits already (with the emphasis on 'butt') then I reckon we're in for a hefty surprise. I reckon he's going to be straight into the 6 month romper suits and bouncing on Daddy's knee demanding kebabs by the time he's 8 weeks old.
Clearly, I have 4 weeks to divert this catastrophe, 4 weeks of alfalfa sprouts and brisk walks, 4 weeks of swimming and lean protein... 4 weeks of water and fresh fruit...
Or I could have 4 weeks of sitting on my fat backside slurping down ice-cream.
Hmmm....
1 comment:
Charlie Angel
Little nephew, soft and sweet,
Don't kick my sister with your feet,
I know it's almost time to leave
But think of mummy's comfort, please
Soon enough you'll be outside
And both your folks will beam with pride,
You'll take a breath and cry out faintly,
and in the snaps, you'll look so saintly.
Everyone will cry and laugh
Dad will give you your first bath
Mum will rest, and all around
Relief, and joy and peace abounds.
So have a care, and please sit still
Because you're making mummy ill
She's only got a few weeks more
Make it easy, not a chore.
Of course I care about your tears
But I've loved my sister forty years
Her health and safety's paramount
So make these last few fortnights count
Your mum will soon be caring for
Every whim and every chore
Making sure you're warm and safe
A pretty angel, not a waif
But if it all becomes too unbearable
(I hear that wombs can be quite terrible)
And if discomfort is unbearable,
Worry not! Flesh is tearable
Let your claws grow nice and long
And although it may be wrong
Don't bite them back, for you will need 'em
To scratch and claw your way to freedom.
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