Anti-natal?

So, first ante-natal class this week. And first real hit of 'culture shock' for us: At some point all the couples needed to agree on a Group Contract (obviously I wasn't the only one who had no idea what this should entail - we all sat around dumbly, while the instructor populated the list with things like "Start & Finish on time" and "You don't have to answer questions if you don't want to"). At some point, someone did volunteer a point about maybe keeping mobile phones on silent or switched off. Both hubs and I immediately reached into our pockets with a guilty grin, and switched ours off. But here's the thing. Out of 30 people in the room, we were the ONLY ONES. Obviously most people here just pull the string taut and yodel into a tin can when they need to get in touch with someone in a hurry.

We also went through an exercise involving matching terms to their definitions. "What's the large muscular organ that contains the baby, amniotic fluid & placenta?". Best answer: "The Female".

Reality Bites

I was just nipped by the thought...

Right now, junior is roughly 1kg in weight. When he comes out, he's going to be at LEAST 3kg. At LEAST. That's 2kg more growth.

Okay, now I'm worried.

Fancy Footwork

Well, we're up to week 27. Thirteen loooong weeks to go (at least!?).

Every week seems to take an eternity to crawl by. I know there are a lot of parents out there who would probably tell me to relish the last few weeks without being ruled by Baby, but frankly, I'm already ruled by the little sod! Last night as I lay in bed trying to find a comfy sleeping position, he tap-danced on my intestines, can-can'd on my colon, boogied on my bladder, and was getting intimate with a little stomach salsa.

Don't get me wrong, it's nice to know he's still in there and going strong, but I wish he'd take up a less energetic pursuit. Chess, perhaps?

Thinking of dancing .. and feet in particular. I seem to developing a more and more distant relationship with mine. I can still contort myself enough to put on shoes and socks, but I'm starting to get concerned about things like toe-nail clipping. At what point will this happy past-time elude my grasp? Is it really okay to make one's husband do the clippy work?

Not much else to report. I'm still not exercising anywhere near as much as I should be (my aerobic 'step' is eyeing me accusingly as I type), and probably eating way more sugar than I ought. I went for the diabetes test on Thursday, so once I'm given the all-clear (fingers crossed!), the chocolate binge can resume guilt-free! At this point, I'd go as far as maiming someone for a packet of M&Ms.

Ooh, I've also just weirded myself out watching a whole bunch of 'pregnant stomach movement' videos on YouTube - to the accompaniment of many astonished profanities provided by hubby. There are some VERY vigorous babies out there, that's all I can say, and I'm suddenly grateful for the fact that Bean here is too puny to make much of an 'outside' impression as yet. Yet another thing to look forward to. Hurrah.

Oregano's Baby

I assume then, you've heard of Rosemary's Baby. I'm sure in its time, it was a terrifying and disturbing film, but I was inspired to watch it recently - given the continual proddings and palpations from within.

It's a hoot, ain't it? Ok, I *did* feel a little sorry for Rosemary during her early pregnancy - not necessarily for the pain, but for her whole drained, wan appearance; I felt exactly the same during the first 16 weeks, coped with it a whole lot less, and didn't even have the Son of Satan to blame.

At 25 - nearly 26! - weeks on, I'm starting to see where the *real* evil lies. My bottom has ballooned, and in pretty much colour, texture and size resembles the earth's largest satellite. The glimpse I caught in the mirror last night was enough to make me gibber and quiver in best Mia Farrow fashion. It was enough to send me reeling in horror to the sofa, where I sat and watched another episode of House and gorged myself on the rest of the packet of tim-tams.

Woo! Red Letter Day!

I have to write about this quickly, while I'm still feeling rather perky.

I had A Full Night Of Sleep last night! Something I've not had in weeks, and don't expect to have again till June .. 2040.

There are two things which have been putting a crimp on my sleeping habits. The first is the insistence on every site I visit that pregnant ladies MUST NOT sleep on their backs, and since the stomach is out for obvious reasons, this leaves left or right side. I am lead to believe that the left side is de rigeur. If you don't want varicose veins or haemorrhoids that is. Problem with this is that I wake up with my hip-bones attempting to drill through the inches of hip fat and commune directly with the mattress.

Not Very Comfortable.

So at that point, I decide to risk the right side. But here's where the second problem comes in. Having the big gut and a very un-bendy body means that turning over is no longer the casual fish-flop action it used to be - carried out in a state of blissful unconsciousness. Nope. I wake up fully, heave myself onto my elbows, adjust pillows, groan with effort and misery (SOMEONE needs to wake up and pay attention to this performance, after all!), and with the help of a small crane I manage to shift bloated belly, hips and bum a full 180 degrees, before huffing down into my pillow again.

So what went wrong last night? I ended up on my back. Blissfully unaware at some point during the night, I gently transitioned from venously correct left-side position, to dangerous and unrecommended back position, and slept right through a full 8 hours. And I feel awesome. Piles be damned!