I thought this baby was going to arrive early. I had a feeling. I was convinced this baby would arrive during week 39. Why? Oh, no reason, I just didn’t want it to be massive and was hoping mother nature would step in and help me out. Well, she didn’t because she’s a knob and she doesn’t care how huge this baby is, it’s not her fanny it’s entering the world through, is it?
Yesterday was my due date. I woke up furious, as I do every morning, angrily wondering why the hell I was still pregnant. Did I do something terrible in another life? Am I being punished for some unknown crimes? Is this some kind of joke?
I don’t want to sound ungrateful, I know that being pregnant is wonderful. And, I swear, I have been really grateful throughout this pregnancy. I have kept my moaning to a minimum (compared to last time at least, I was super miserable then), I have been positive and happy and now I’m ready for it to be over. So why isn’t it over?
I can’t carry this weight around anymore. It is too much. My feet hurt by the end of the day just from standing up because there is so much weight pressing down on them. I can’t get out of bed anymore, I just flail around like a fallen beetle, trying desperately not to piss myself, grunting loudly until Laurie eventually stirs and gives me the shove I need to get vertical.
I can’t sleep anymore. I wake up All The Time. And when I wake up, I can’t help but hold my breath and hope it was a contracting that woke me up. It wasn’t, of course, it was the tardy baby punching me in the bladder. Again. And every time I wake up, I am angry. It is tiring to be angry all the time. And it is tiring to be punched in the bladder all the time. I am very tired. I cannot give birth when I am this tired. What if that is why the baby hasn’t been born yet? How can I rectify this dilemma when I cannot stop the baby from punching me in the bladder?
I cannot take any more baths. I have had enough baths now. Sometimes two a day. It is too much bath. I’m really for the baby now. The baby will poop in the bath and make me never bathe again. I’m ready for that. I have had enough baths. I have had so many baths that I have rubbed my face raw with a flannel. This is not a normal problem, I’m sure, I think maybe the tardy baby is forcing me to lose my mind.
I can’t eat any more curries. I’ve eaten so many curries. And they’re so spicy. I can’t do it anymore. I have had enough curry, thank you. I want to go back to eating salad, or whatever. I don’t want to get any more text messages asking if I’ve had any signs yet. I HAVE HAD NO SIGNS. I AM NOT IN LABOUR. THERE IS NO BABY. That’s what I want to say to everyone. Maybe I’m not even pregnant, maybe I just drank so much sparkling water that I have the appearance of a heavily pregnant woman but really it is all bubbles.
I have reached a stage of pregnancy where I am attracting the sympathy of strangers. This is basically impossible and simply proves how huge I am. Usually, people are not sympathetic. They laugh at me waddling around on hot days, shouting over helpful comments about the heat. You know, in case I hadn’t noticed. They ask me if it’s twins. They tell me I look fed up (always a helpful thing to say to someone who is fed up, so thanks for that council worker chopping down trees. May tree sap get in your eyes!). But now, now that the baby is officially late, they offer me sympathy. They reassure me, promising it will happen soon, they tell me it’s exciting, they are kind. You know your life is a bag of crap when strangers start being kind to you.
I can’t do anything useful because I spend literally all of my time wondering why the hell I am still pregnant. And yet I still have not found the answer. I just am. I just am still pregnant and probably always will be. I have a midwife appointment tomorrow morning. I really don’t want to go. Not least because it is very hard to piss accurately in a small pot when you are gestating an adult elephant. But also because I only have to go if I am still pregnant. Please don’t let me still be pregnant then. Please.