The bump is getting big. I turned to my husband last night and said “This is it isn’t it? Surely I’ve reached peak bump?”
His response was “Er no. It’s probably going to be twice the size of what it is now.”
HOW? HOW IS THAT ACTUAL POSSIBLE SCIENCE? I’m already struggling to stand up from sitting and when I do I have to just keep the momentum going until I reach destination point. I’m basically a more aggressive version of the boulder from Indiana Jones, threatening to squish my husband into the kitchen lino if he doesn’t get the flapjacks out of the cupboard quick enough.
Feeling my baby moving around inside my belly is really cool. Even if it took me far too long to be able to distinguish actual baby movement from bum toots.
That is the only way I can really describe growing a human, it’s just really cool. I realise that kinda makes me sound like a teenager waiting for my favourite band outside a gig. Haim? They are are just erm, really cool!
That is kinda what I’m doing though. Waiting for my biggest ever gig to start.
The bump is big enough so that when I leave the house it is now less a pregnant belly but more a bat signal for oversharing.
Swimming pool changing rooms, coffee shop queues, public transport. There is always a women who has given birth ready to tell me how she gave birth. Or a man who knows a woman who has given birth ready to tell me how they gave birth.
Look, I’m quite friendly and I like a chat but seriously guys, if I know more about your wife’s vagina than my best mates by the time you’ve ordered a chai latte, you need to hold back a bit, Pal.
For women maybe it’s like PTSD. You see a pregnant belly and you are suddenly back in the delivery room feeling all that anxiety and pain. LISTEN! This is my tale of survival!
Maybe they genuinely feel like they need to share some wisdom or advice but honestly, the weird delight in which some women have casually thrown around the word ‘episiotomy’ makes me call schadenfreude.
Well, with my first one…take all of the drugs…the stitches were horrendous…I couldn’t even walk…he was no help either…thirty three hours later…the pain…with my second one…
Cool. Just gonna try and drown out the sound of your anecdote with this changing room hairdryer.
Friends with kids haven’t been terribly positive. I thought I’d get tired of them all smugly proclaiming how beautiful the miracle of life is and how fulfilling being a parent is. Nope. Instead it’s been wry smiles and a sing song of ‘you’re life will never be your own again’ and ‘you’ll never sleep again’. Once more with feeling, please.
I appreciate the honesty really I do, but I’m getting to the point where I’m actually craving some smug now. Gimme some smug!
On the other hand, friends with kids have been super helpful and super kind. They’ve given us everything from clothes and websites to just proper sound advice.
Yes, you’re life will not be your own but how great is that? To have another little you to knock about with, to have something other than yourself to focus on? Yes, you will have tired eyes but they will be happy tired eyes.
From what I can gather having a baby is basically like getting a megabus to then wait for your favourite band outside a gig. It’s exhausting, smelly and frustrating but ultimately the experience is more than worth the trek.
It’s not like I don’t over share myself. I have definitely dedicated an unacceptable amount of tweets and Facebook posts to my hormones, bumping and eating.
Hell, this blog is one big over share!
However, I’ve made a vow to myself for when I’m not pregnant.
When I see a pregnant woman or find out a pal is pregnant I will say one thing and one thing only to them.
“That’s really cool.”