We are FULL TERM today. FULL FREAKIN TERM. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Dr North Korea. This is NOT going to be a pre term Gumby. I swear this calls for breakfast champagne. 37 weeks today.
Just like the Olympics, this five ring circus of a pregnancy has departed somewhat from its original purposes…the corporatisation of noble pursuits (hello parallel with ivf, though we sadly didn’t get major sponsors), the professionalisation of what used to be an amateur pastime (ahem)…The use of drugs to do what used to be done naturally, extensive testing, coaching, dieticians and tightly controlled food. And as a spectator, long parades of places you’ve never heard of, late sleepless nights of weird half excitement half boredom, and drama. Always the drama.
And our tele just weirdly, creepily , mysteriously turned itself on at 5:30 am Saturday Aussie time to the 2012 Olympic opening ceremony. The flashing blue light of the tele in the lounge woke us. We have no idea how this happened. We didn’t know the tele had a timer. But we’re up now. It was nice of London to hold an opening ceremony for us. The five ring circus bringing us to parenthood.
By the time the closing ceremony is held, we will, most likely, be holding Gumby in our actual arms. THAT is just plain weird.
Maybe we should name him Boris, after the hilarious mayor of London.
The pregnancy Olympics would include such events as the 200m waddle, the Greco roman wrestle on your jeans and shoes, the weightlifting (ie hub in boots helping me get off the couch), nesting (like fencing, but with less pointy things), the shit put (where I drop stuff on the floor all over the house & hub in boots picks it up), the individual medley (varies nightly but consists of my laying on the couch asking hub in boots for chocolate, tea, antacids and mineral water). Then there’s Gumby’s events: the internal boxing, gymnastics, and the triple jump. Ouch.
Happy full term Gumby, you freaking little trooper.
Yay for us, hub in boots. We rock.
Five ring circus it may be, but we’re nearly there, and we’ve not succumbed to what the odds and stats predicted. Through love, through good management, through support, through sheer dumb luck, through prayers, through no good reason at all. The Olympic motto: Citius, Altius, Fortius.
Faster, Higher, Stronger.