With just days to go, things become feral. Life becomes moments of ticks, tocks, twinges, pisses and sobs. Any traces of energy you were clinging on to for dear life are now non existent. In the space of five minutes you go from being terrified at the thought of labour to being God Damn ready! Just make it STOP!!
Sleep is now all you long for but an interesting insomnia is now your bed fellow. You feel that tingly feeling you get just before a holiday or Christmas, merging with the nauseas anxiety you get before an exam or (I can only imagine) Armageddon. You’re not sure what you’re going to wake up to… Santa or Satan.
You wash once a week, if that. Your hair begins to form into dreadlocks. Your body is an optical illusion you might see in a circus mirror : vaguely normal front on, but in profile – you swallowed the Titanic, whole, and it’s fighting its way out of your belly button and arse hole.
You no longer look adorable or cute, you have become a colossal abomination. People used to look at you and say “oh how precious, when are you due?” Now they think “holy Hell why haven’t the doctors intervened? What is she growing in there? How does she stand up straight?” They back away from you like you are a glacier heading for their dinghy.
Every day you wake up sorry that you haven’t popped (or pooped) – yet you get the feeling you should be careful what you wish for. “What fresh Hell is this?” Springs to mind.
My poor toddler is already neglected. Bathing him takes as much energy as a full hour of circuits and puts my back out. He is fed a lot of toast and his socks don’t match.
Food is no longer my mate. There just isn’t any room for it to go – but food is the only joy you will know for these last days, let’s face it – sex is out; Perhaps forever. Last night I ate some fish and chips which resulted in me lying in bed for two hours straight groaning in agony. I felt like the girl in Charlie and the Chocolate factory who turned into a gargantuan blueberry. I wanted the Umpa Lumpas to come and roll me out to be drained.
The highlight of my day is when my mother ‘helpfully’ brings some new pants over that she bought for me in Aldi that potentially you could hold a pretty good wedding reception in.
During the night I have to get up to pee up to ten times. Do you know how hard it is to go from horizontal to vertical in this state? Do you know what I have to do? I have to build momentum. I have to swing my arms back and forth, like a trapeze artist. Then when I’ve got enough wind behind me (literally) I can spring up and waddle off to the toilet.
The hot weather is too hot and the wet weather just makes me want to piss more.
And there’s a post it on my wall reading 8…7…6. But the truth is I’m not sure any of us are prepared for 0.
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