Sunday, 21 June 2009


I like being a pregnant person. (And no, that is not my stomach up there. I am holding out on those kinds of photos until there is no shadow of a doubt it is Baby Not Burgers)

  • People are nice to you.
  • They care about how you are doing. And mean it.
  • They think being round is Cute. For Once.
  • Resting is important and excused
  • People squeal when they see you
  • And are really genuinely excited for you
  • You get to buy big clothes
  • You no longer need to (or can) hold your gut in
  • Not seeing your feet is comical, not tragic
  • Looking good is secondary, OK, tertiary, to feeling good
  • Asking for help comes really easily
  • It matches my already advanced need for quiet time and naps and comfy bottoms
So yes, it suits. I love the attention. I love my thick hair and strong nails. I love the kicks and the somersaults. I love Mark talking to my tummy. I have a few physical niggles, but not bad. I feel good. And Special. Because I am growing a person.

What's going to happen after the boy comes? Will I get any attention? Will I care? Is this the ultimate test of being a Grown Up? It is no longer about you -- and that is OK? Does the maternal love kick in and all that matters is the Baby?

Being a Very Important Pregnant Person is lovely. I look forward to seeing if I can give up the crown graciously to my new Prince.

Tuesday, 16 June 2009

taking pictures

You know how when you are on holiday or at an important party with all your friends and you really want to capture the moments for your memory bank, but you are so busy ENJOYING the moments that stopping to break out of it and photograph it feels wrong?

That is kinda how I have been feeling about this particular time of pregnancy. I know I am going to want to remember little things, what I am feeling, what steps we are taking to get ready, what is happening, but I kind of can't be arsed.

Is that weird? It is like I am so happy In It that I don't want to break the spell to look at things more closely or record them.

This does not bode well for me keeping baby journals, does it. I find I am getting lazier about those kinds of things. We still haven't ordered (shhhh) our Cambridge wedding photos from 3 years ago. Nor have we really put our DC wedding ones in any kind of album.

All the baby stuff I have -- maternity papers, stuff from the doctor, etc. are shoved into a blue folder named "Baby". I have not organized anything official. The few things we have bought are sitting piled up in the office. Unsorted. Un -cooed about.

I haven't really gotten a jones to shop for small adorable things. Or large and practical ones either.

I kind of want to just read novels and sleep and go for walks. The End.

Lexie put it nicely -- that I am providing a House. A safe shelter that is constant and stable and not too hot and not too cool and is sturdy and quiet. Nothing too jiggley. No sudden movements.

Somehow that gives me a little more permission to be quiet about it all. Be a Safe House.

Perhaps I wake up a bit more to be more conscious about what kind of House I am and pay a bit more attention to the inner workings.

As soon as I take one more nap.