Thursday, 19 March 2015

34 Weeks' Pregnant - A Very Pregnant Turkey - The Christmas Collision Course

Christmas is over - people came, they saw, they gave presents and ate our food, they conquered. They thoroughly enjoyed our turkey. Which was relatively small. We only bought a crown - why should we need to buy a large turkey when the biggest turkey is sat here at 34 weeks pregnant.

And that is what I feel like, but instead of being stuffed with tasty Sage and Onion - I am stuffed with a baby that seems to be getting larger and more violent by the second. What were once delightful, exciting flutters in my stomach, are now fully fledged karate kicks and fight club punches. I no longer look 'radiant' - I look exhausted and morbidly obese. I am no longer excited about this pregnancy or relish telling people the news. I don't need to tell people the news. The Jig is up! 

My partner and I survived Christmas - we got through it. He survived my parents and cooking a Christmas meal for a very fussy four. I survived my parents and being judged and criticised for having a glass of Bucks Fizz in the afternoon. I am sure Mother was just checking I didn't have any fun at all. We wouldn't want to have fun on Christmas day would we? I survived watching all around me drink to their heart's content to the point they couldn't form sentences and my parents survived the day without being butchered by their daughter with a large turkey carving knife. 

We also survived the annual family get together. Usually this takes place a couple of days after Christmas and involves the collection of my quite well to do family for, sometimes, the first time in a year. 

I am usually met with questions about my current course of study or my job but this year I was only asked to show people my bump and asked to fill in the generic baby Questionnaire (Do you know what you're having? When are you due? Do you have any names yet?etc) I only realised when I had left that not a single person had asked me anything about my career. Was that it now? Have I transitioned to a 'mother' and so from now on all questions will be directed to me about 'motherhood'? What an odd feeling. I didn't know whether to be relieved or offended. Is there some feminist issue here? Perhaps. 

My fatherly uncles didn't quite know how to act when they saw the little girl who was still sat at 'The Children's table' at family weddings up until a few years ago with a very large bump. One Uncle said "So, I hear you're with child then?" uncomfortably. 
"I hope so," I said "Or this is rather embarrassing" gesturing to my protruding beach ball like stomach. 
Another uncle kept on repeating "February you're due? February? Really, February?" I said yes why? 
"Oh nothing" he said "It's just I remember the wife when she was two months from giving birth and she was..." at this point he made a gesture with his hands as if he was sculpting a make believe Killer Whale in the air. 

My partner on the other hand was purely asked how I was doing. Was he excited? Was he happy? Was he thrilled? etc. I watched him from across the room like a nodding dog, in the back of a fast car, over an uneven road.

There were of course a few questions such as "Will you be having pain medication during birth?" Which is quite frankly the most ridiculous question I have ever heard. I don't even buy Organic Tomatoes. 

All we need now, I thought, is a horrific birth story!

My lovely Auntie started: 
"I remember my sister telling me that giving birth wasn't that bad" she said. Ooh I thought. Perhaps, she had seen my state and felt my anxiety and decided to be nice. 
"Yes," she continued "My sister was always telling me how giving birth wasn't that bad. Then as soon as I had given birth I called her up" she said, all the while smiling.

"And she said 'It's awful isn't it?"
Everyone listening gave out a little chuckle and the story appeared to be finished. But no, she wasn't done.

"She said 'It's like trying to pull your bottom lip above your..."

"Alright, that's quite enough!" My father exclaimed, jumping up "We don't need to upset her". 

My Father... my hero. 

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