I’m officially 39 weeks. And I’m so bloody ready to have this bab. Everything is a struggle at the moment. Standing up, sitting down, getting up le stairs, getting down le stairs. Being patient. It’s all getting too hard.
To top it all Me, Hubs AND the Bald Kitten all have stinking colds. The Bald Kitten regularly has a coughing fit in the early hours, and last night hubs was sort of but not screaming in his sleep. I can’t really explain the sound. It was both creepy and annoying. Hence the exclamation ‘Kevin! Stop making that noise you sound like a fucking ghost!’
He jolted awake and said something about not being able to help it as he was asleep. Shortly after this the Bald Kitten did his best impression of a poor Victorian, coughing his way to an early grave in some grotty workhouse. I got him a drink and climbed into his bed whereupon he enthusiastically explained that Santa has lost his magic star and the pups are going to help him. If he’s not watching sodding Paw Patrol he’s telling us about it.
The boy soothed back to sleep I crept back into my own bed and actually fall asleep. Although nearly cried when what felt like only five minutes later I was woken by the Bald Kitten because daddy was going to work and I need to be up so we don’t get a repeat of last weeks ‘Vinegar gate’.
There was a new born at football today. Will was fascinated. Which naturally meant I had to take steps to stop him poking it. I actually felt my insides tug when I gazed at the teeny baby. Although fuck you insides!! This could be us if you get your arse in gear and start labouring!
I *should* be starting dinner about now but ‘I can’t be arsed to do it’ is a massive understatement. Thank goodness hubs and I made all those meals for when baby arrives, who knew I could be organised?
In other news:
Le preggo ball is inflated, I’m ready to bounce this baby out!
I’m feeling rather fragile so am not enjoying the musical accompaniment to the telly. (The boy smacking hell out of a drum.)
We’ve not had snow here yet and I’m making sacrifices to the gods to ensure it doesn’t. I am NOT going to give birth stranded on the M6 in a snow drift.