Thirty three weeks today . Woo hoo! Can i just say 32 weeks was my ultimate goal and 33 seems unbelievable?
Gumby’s happy hour shower tomorrow. We asked the folks coming to hold back on the pressies, but said if people insisted they could help start his library with their favourite childhood book. He’s looking well read already with the mail arrival this week of a mr men box set, the house at pooh corner, The gruffalo, where is binky boo,for boys only and the Little Prince.
Gumby continues to move in a ridiculous fashion every 40 minutes or so. We have the wriggling in phase (extensive turning last night which actually hurt … Don’t go breech little guy!), the see saw phase where he makes both sides of my big belly jump at once (learning star jumps? Very popular during mum’s relaxation/ meditation), the tigger phase ( possibly short bursts of hiccups), and the let’s do something unspeakable to mum’s hip/rib/belly button phase, which I’m pretty sure involves getting fingers & toes wrapped right round somewhere they should not be & them practising like an Olympic athlete on the parallel bars. My left hip is available for interviews on this topic, as is hub in boots, who was worn a track in the carpet to the microwave with the heat pack.
All in all, though, my busy little companion hasn’t changed a great deal with the third trimester. Of course, anything I drop is just left on the floor, so there’s a clear trail or what I’ve been doing around the place, but apart from this the toe nail painting / shoe putting on stakes are not too bad. I refuse to clean the shower, as it would look like an elephant in a phone box trying to pick up a peanut. Otherwise, duties are not too restricted.
The braxton hicks continue to provide entertainment quite regularly, at times balling up to such an extent that I’m pretty sure I’ll be giving birth in about 20 minutes time. The real thing should be a total party if these babies are the practice version. Kind of like you may simultaneously crap yourself, have some vital organs drop out, and have a Sigourney in aliens / Bella in twilight moment where he bursts forth tearing flesh out of his way. Yep, sounds awesome. Not phased though. It’s only pain. ( she writes, naively, while sage women all over the world nod to each other and go she’s fucked).
I am having trouble adjusting to the idea that my little companion will be moving out soon. Can pregnant women get empty nester symptoms? It seems weird to have him everywhere with me and be so used to his presence, then suddenly he won’t be. And my head understands there’s going to be a baby in da house, but I can’t connect the baby with the little dude that’s been hanging out in my downstairs. It’s weird. It’s weird to say, but I’ll miss him! Mostly. What he’s doing right now to my left hip, I won’t miss at all.
Speaking of little dudes in the house, I ran into the girl from the unit above us. We hate these people, quite a lot. They are drug fucked idiots who somehow hold down good jobs but specialise in all night drug fuelled parties (and when I say all night I mean 2am-11am), vomiting deliberately into our balcony ( no I kid you not) and arguments. they are the most inconsiderate neighbours you could possibly have.
Actually we love the arguments. At first, I took her side and stew took his, but now we both realise Patrick’s a total asshole. We actually mute the tele so we can hear the latest instalment. Sunday night arguments are de rigour, oh but there’s others. He never does any housework. He never wants sex. She is lazy. If she doesn’t stop crying he’s gonna throw himself out the window ( I had to physically grab stew & stop him shouting so do it!!! during this one. Plus it’s not high enough to do sufficient damage.). Before they got married, they fought about the effectiveness of the priest doing the deed, the in laws, the wedding plans. They were married within three months of us. After they got married, the arguments have got really good.
And yesterday, after suspicions for sometime whilst on bedrest, she spoke to me, and I find they are indeed expecting, due two weeks after us apparently. So hub-in-boots’ plan of standing under their window and making gumby howl to wake them every night? Ruined. That’s three women expecting in a block of NINE units! Weird. God help us if they end up in the same hospital at the same time. Hub-in-boots will take cocaine snorting bong building Patrick OUT.
Right. I’ve eaten my porridge & gumby has done his usual kick the hell outta mum the second she starts eating routine (his father’s son where food’s concerned). Off to markets.
Here’s week 32 and 33. Baby happy hour pics to follow.