Seriously, whoop my ass. We visited our friends Kim and Pete this week, and their gorgeous newborn, William. First newborn I’ve held in a long long time, but it felt easy and natural. He was lovely. His feet were very little. He was very pink. I liked his sneezes- they were adorable. He was easy to settle.
And I deserve an ass whooping because (for a moment here or there), I thought “oh christ what have we done????. Do I even want this?” give me a slap. Now. But this is blog land, and I will speak the unspeakable.
Hub in boots stepped up to the plate like a champion, and held little William for forty minutes, confidently handling and settling the little guy while his dazed new parents looked on with combined aftershock, joy, pride and confuzzlement. They are already home and creating a family life as I type. Amazing.
I had a few low low low days afterward, (admittedly Wednesday arvo as we headed over to see them the new lull was already kicking in big time). Flat as a tack. No energy. Couldn’t be assed cooking, didn’t walk except for one day. Felt like another iron low, maybe a gumby growth spurt, and far too many braxton hicks contractions to ever feel like I could relax.
Thursday night there were 10 really breathtaking contractions in two hours. Seriously. I spent whole days on tenterhooks wondering ‘do I stay or do I go now?’. Is this call the hospital territory? The BH ‘s are physically tiring, and they kick up another notch every couple of days. Bloody uncomfortable. And no, they don’t change with movement.
I spoke to the midwife Friday, and she said to just stay on a short fuse with them this weekend: any more changes & just head straight in to maternity. Luckily, since Friday evening , they seem to have settled right down, comparatively, perhaps owing to my drinking water fixation. We see the obby tomorrow so can have a bit of a check up.
And really, at 34 weeks, with gumby still going strong, what I should be is overjoyed. What I should be is grateful. What I am is buggered, and a bit nervous, and a bit over this.
It takes a lot of mental energy to make it through day by day, week by week, from 10 weeks til 25, our critical phase of our own personal shitstorm, where really growing this baby was and is the only thing in my life. And I can’t get my head around how to handle the remaining wait, then transition from this to birth, and from birth to parenthood.
It has taken me a lot, emotional strength wise, to get this far. And I’m just not sure where I can dig around and find more for the next parts. Which is scary.
Last night we had big bro’s grand prix / Bahrain after party 50th (don’t ask me, qualifying was in Britain !) so we fancy dressed up and went along . Another night of watching sushi platters and freshly shucked oysters pass me by, the mineral water and pre party Vegemite sandwich dinner tedium relieved by a crazy diet coke and a venison pie and mini whiting with polenta chips and a bit of music, along with a sneaky sip of someone else’s red.
I had a pit crew of three, in $7 disposable overalls adorned with hub-in-boots’ old racing badges. Go the big costume effort. Would have liked to appear as a camel ( already have the hump) but walking on all fours with bump on top too logistically challenging. Big bro gave a frighteningly accurate rendition of F1 boss Bernie Ecclestone.
Things seem to have picked up for me a little now, though as I type this it’s 1pm, hub in boots has gone to footy, there’s been washing waiting to go out since 11, and I haven’t yet left the bedroom. I am still in my pyjamas. Gumby clearly ok, setting a record 10 kicks in 1 minute 37 just a short while ago. We’re off to the ob tomorrow morning. I hope Gumby hasn’t disengaged or moved too much. Things seem similar, though his feet reach my ribs now & this morning I’m pretty sure there was a quite identifiable bottom really poking out, four inches above my belly button on the left hand side, much higher than I would have thought possible.
I still enjoy his kicks & find his company funny (at times freaky), I’m ok with the all night peeing and occasional hip spasms, but I’m simultaneously sick of counting down and not ready to be dealing with a newborn instead of a pregnancy! Guess I don’t get many options on all that….(yeah yeah whinge whinge…toughen up buttercup).
One nice moment this week was a non sleeping bout at 4:30 am, when I whacked on the iPod to settle my noisy mind, and realised I’d like a particular piece of music on in the labour ward (if we go that route), O Magnum Mysterium by American composer Morten Laurisden, written in the 1970’s but sounding gregorian chant like.
Several years ago our chorus of the Philharmonia choir sang in the sunrise on Bondi beach with this piece, in a Sydney festival concert with a several hundred voice choir, dressed all in black and barefoot on the sand. That music is in my bones now, and I’ve been playing it to Gumby this week, even on the crap days. As we looked across to Brett Weymark the conductor, his arms moving dancingly in the pre dawn light, catching glimpses of early surfers paddling out on their boards, and as we sopranos hit the top notes, the waves quietly shushed a percussion, and the sun peeped over the horizon. It was perfect.
Click here to see an extract:
This is the Dawn Chorus video my friend took of another piece we sang; what a morning.
A fitting piece and in built visualisation for our boy’s arrival.