Maybe the crazypixie knows something I don’t but she unpacks my labour bag at least twice a day and runs off with the contents. At this rate I could find myself in the labour ward with a bag containing nothing but some pre-chewed ricecracker, one sock and pink monkey (not an Anne Summers gadget but one of crazypixie’s stuffed minions).
At least there is plenty to distract me from obsessing over the upcoming birth.
My lil bro and his fiancée have conveniently decided to have their nuptials this week, followed a few days later by a great big wedding bash. There is a whole week of festivities planned to keep us all amused and to get to spend as much time as a family as possible( yes, this is a good thing – boringly, we all get on really well and said lil bro and fiancée normally reside in the antipodes).
Couldn’t we have timed this little better? You may well ask. And my entire family did ask when we first admitted that our due date might be a bit close to the wedding (as in two days after the ceremony and one day before the party). In our pathetic defence we hadn’t actually planned to be pregnant quite so soon. I was still breastfeeding crazypixie and she was just being introduced to the joys of solids. My cycle hadn’t even returned (ah yes, we’re the stereotypes – that couple that is cited as a warning about using breastfeeding as your only method of contraception).
My mum summed it up by retorting to my justifications, ‘Well, you didn’t do anything to prevent it!’
So, with a bit of luck my waters won’t break during the I do’s, we’ll all enjoy some great family celebrations over the next few days and just as we wind down from the wedding, I’ll put my hand on my bump, turn to himself and whisper, ‘I think it’s time dear.’