Fed up now.
There’s not a single position that I can get into any more that leaves me feeling in any way comfortable. To make things even more pleasant the midwife told me last week that it’ll be another week or so before baby’s head even starts to engage, and then things’ll get really uncomfy. Fabulous.
I’ve finished work now, at least. Just before the students came back and things got manic. I’d assumed that as soon as I was at home the nesting instinct would kick in and I’d be able to occupy myself with polishing round the back of the toilet and stuff. But no. The skirting boards are still muttering at me as I walk past. “…lazy bitch…”
Mother came down on Tuesday and took me shopping. We bought a massive box of breast pads and I felt all self-righteous at my bulk-buy foward planning. Then I got home and looked at the little label on the box that said ‘Box contains approx. 1 week’s worth of pads’. A week?! Christ. We also bought a sort of pappouse baby carrier type construction and in the process of trying it out I promptly managed to press the wrong button and send imaginary baby crashing head-first into the kitchen floor. Woops.
Still, slow babies stay cuter for longer.
