Thursday, 19 March 2015

37 Weeks Pregnant - The Sweaty Ostrich and the Swiss Chard

While the snow has been coming down more and more ferociously and the UK goes into its usual exaggerated panic - I have been vigorously crossing my legs. Usually snow is my favourite forecast and, for me, indicates some days off work and long, romantic, magical walks alone in the park, marvelling at the ducks on the frozen lake. This year, for the first year, I am unable to enjoy it. I am too afraid of slipping over or falling down, like the proverbial 'sack of shit', to go out and make novelty snow sculptures or enjoy any of these Narnia like surroundings.

I am 37 weeks pregnant and the baby is the size of a Swiss Chard (I have no idea what this is). I have been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately and am starting to worry about the inevitable sleep deprivation to come. I finally managed to drop off at around 8am yesterday and was woken up ten minutes later by aggressive banging (oh grow up!) on the front door. It took a while for me to understand what was happening. I managed to fall out of bed and was half way down the stairs when I realised I was naked. I ran back upstairs and managed to pull on my Disney Bambi jumper and leggings. Bambi is side-on on the front of the jumper and his eye is knitted over my bump. The jumper used to look quite flattering. It is now stretched to fuck - and Bambi looks like a scary Cyclops looming over my feet. The banging continued. I thrust open the front door expecting the four horses of the Apocalypse - but it was a delivery man.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!" He shouted.
"I ...was .....asleep" I muttered, still shocked
What a super sense of humour. Hilarious I'm sure.

My weekend was long and depressing - my partner wanting to relax - and me wanting the attention I had not had all week like a small neglected Shih Tzu. This is not the best combination in a relationship. I was too scared to venture out in the snow and ice - and my partner spent each evening ferrying food I fancied to me through the blizzard.

Yesterday I was visited in my home by my 'Health Visitor'. I was excited for her arrival as I don't get to socialise with anyone nowadays other than my partner and, on occasion, my mother. Always a joy. She came in what then transpired was an interview worthy of Piers Morgan.

How will you bond with your baby? Erm... I don't know. I...I will breast feed and erm... 
What sort of parent will you be? Erm... I will be a ....'good' parent. I will probably be like my mother. 
What do you think it will be like when you bring the baby home? Erm... I.... don't ...... know.. 
What did you eat yesterday? I know this one! .... chocolate biscuits. 
Do you feel isolated? Yes - I am isolated. 
Do you feel emotional? Yes - I always do.
Do you feel like you can't cope? I didn't before we started this..... 
Have you ever suffered from depression? Perhaps. 
Are you taking vitamins? Well, no...but....
Have you been to any classes? Well, no... but...
Have you read any books? Well, not really, but ...
Have you got a birth plan? Not in the strictest sense ...
Have you had a tour of the wards? No, I would rather not... 

She ended the barrage of questions with
"I think you have had your head in the sand". 

Yes - I might be a big fat sweaty Ostrich ... I have not given much thought to actually bringing the baby home. I have not considered 'bonding' with the baby or being a parent. I imagined it all just being natural. I thought mainly about surviving the birth. And no - I don't want to go to a 'class'! I do not want to sit around with strangers and DISCUSS the medical intricacies of getting a Swiss Chard out of my vagina - thanks very much. I will just do it.

20 days …

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