Half way. And how do I feel? Um … the same as I felt a month ago, and the month before that and the month before that. In fact, the same as I felt six months ago. In five-ish months a little life will be sucking on the nipples of my soon-to-be sack-like breasts. It’s a mind-fuck. I mean, I always thought that I would feel pregnant when I was pregnant – whatever that may mean. But I feel the same as I have always felt – not that I am complaining. I am still walking 40 minutes to work and back (each way please note) and I am still going to raucous metal gigs. Tonight I am going to stand at The Globe for three and a half hours to watch Troilus and Cressida, after which I will revel in a cup of delicious coffee and some truffles.
I have a teensy bump and still can’t fully grasp that there is a person (half-person) inside me glugging on my amniotic fluid. It (the baby) is still pretty much an ‘it’. That being said, I find myself unconsciously rubbing my little bulge – mainly to apologise to it for the loud music blasting my eardrums or for running to make it to the bus stop on time. I find myself prodding it to try and make it move. I think I feel it move but how would I know what a moving foetus feels like? I’m sure that the more maternal variety of woman screeched with joy when they felt the baby move for the first time – I still can’t tell the difference between gas and baby twitches.
Thanks to the fear-inducing crap spewed out by the media I am worried about stupid swine flu – I am not at all keen on birthing an antibiotic-induced mutant, unless it takes after Wolverine (which is quite possible: I am married to an Italian). In that case, “hello” swine flu. I also have daydreams that my baby is born looking like a chocolate jelly bean stained with msg. It’s most inconvenient that everything I eat now impacts another somebody else rather than just my ass and thighs.
Living on another continent does help with the unwarranted advice problem from the usual suspects, however, I have already been advised to refrain from my metal music as the baby will be stressed and will apparently need counselling in later years. I have been told that I should play it Mozart **yawn** instead. If metal = happy mom and mom = happy baby then … duh!!! Just five-ish months along, and my parenting skills have been challenged. I have also been advised by certain parties to stay in the hospital for five days after the baby is born and not to have Polish Doctors on my delivery team **sigh**. Thanks. Useful advice. Of course the NHS allows lengthy hospital sojourns as well as my own choice of doctor. WTF?
When I dream about the baby sometimes it’s a girl and other times it’s a boy. Funnily enough everyone has an opinion on what the sex of my baby will be … and I have no clue! Are moms supposed to have a sixth sense about this?
My man-chest has expanded quite successfully – my girls actually fit into my A-cup bra now. Exciting stuff! So I have cleavage for the first time in my existence and yet I can’t even wear a corset unless I want a baby looking like the bound feet of a 10th century Chinese woman. Not cool.
The only thing I find vaguely interesting about baby paraphernalia at the moment is the awesomely fluffy leopard-print babygrow that I discovered last weekend. Things that I might actually need, like a cot and some nappies, are far less interesting.
I have also come to be grateful for a wonderful mental invention called ‘baby-goggles’ (like beer-goggles) that allow parents to think their baby is attractive even though it may repulse onlookers. This little device has made me okay with the ‘what if I have an ugly baby’ thing. At least I will think the little guy (or gal) is beautiful. When people ask me how the baby’s doing my usual response is “Fine … I think” – it’s not like I have some X-ray vision that allows me to see into my abdomen. All I know for sure is that I feel great and that I love my baby. Beyond that lies a great mystery waiting to be uncovered.
