So, the highlight of my week are Mondays. Why you may ask? Because Mondays are my roll over day to the next week of pregnancy you see. My pregnancy app updates to a new week and tells me different things about what my little parasite is up to, what bodily changes I can expect that week and (my favourite) compares babies size to fruit and vegies. I can’t tell you how much joy I get out of that comparison, I’m not sure why and it could just be me, but fuck I look forward to that every bloody week. Here’s the frustrating thing though, last week it said baby was the size of a Butternut Squash and this week it says its now the size of a Bunch of Banana’s…sometimes I feel like I get a bit ripped off, like how many banana’s make up a bunch mate? Pretty sure I liked it being the size of a Butternut Squash actually. Fucking “Bunch of Bananas” is bullshit!
Fun fact – my app also told me to look out because I could start lactating – yay. So obviously I am paranoid about leakage. Thanks Ovia – great tip there. I’m also at a stage where walking up a flight of stairs is something I consider as my “daily cardio.” Although not fully constipated, I do get quite a significant amount of joy when I get that feeling of needing to go do #2’s & it ends up being a very quick and pleasurable experience. #thanksbran
My body has now become addicted to sugar. I’m not sure if this is pregnancy related or just due to the fact that being this time of year, I have eaten my body wait in Ferrero Rocher’s and now my brain just expects its daily intake. I looked in the mirror the other day and said to my husband “babe, I think I’m getting fatter,” he responded with “yeah you are starting to resemble a Ferrero Rocher now.” I would not advice any husbands to tell their pregnant wives that they resemble a Ferrero Rocher. I did not take this as a compliment. I don’t think anyone can take that as a compliment.
Because I look pregnant now, I’ve also started to hear the labour stories of complete strangers. They have ranged from the incredible & joyous to the horrendous & inexplicably painful. I’m hoping mine will be somewhere towards the “joyous.” I’m not quite sure how hearing all of these stories has made me feel. I know mine will be just that: mine, and that you can’t go off anyone else’s experience because your body will react in a unique way. I do however like to concentrate on the fact that I’m not the only woman that has to give birth and that there have been quite a few other women who have gone through it before me – some even under tree’s or in the desert & they’ve done just fine. I have also watched the only video I need to watch about childbirth. It was a 3minute nicely animated video on Facebook with a calm UK woman speaking about the different stages of birth and what the baby & your body does. That’s enough for me. No “One Born Every Minute” necessary thank-you. I don’t need to see other women screaming in pain, that’s not going to help me. I did also watch that movie where the lady just sneezed and the baby came out – if possible I’d like to order one of those births thanks.
I’ve decided not to go in with a “birthing plan.” Not for any other reason than I know myself & I know I like plans, I like them a lot. BUT – and this is a big BUT – if I type out a nice plan & things start going OFF the plan I’ll freak the fuck out. So…I’ve decided my only plan is this: go in, do what needs to be done, try not to want the drugs, try for a natural vaginal birth, do what the midwives tell me, do what’s best for myself and my baby. Simple yet I believe effective. My whole belief about birth (coming from someone who hasn’t been through it of course) is do what’s right for you, have whomever you need in the room, don’t be afraid to ask for what you want & listen to the professionals. My Mum loves telling the story of how she was in labour and my Dad was sitting on a chair in the corner eating sandwiches. She tells this story with a lot of gusto whilst my Dad always replies with “it didn’t look that bad.” I can tell you right now, if anyone is getting a sandwich it will be me, if anyone is sitting down, it will be me, and if Brad even slightly believes at any point that labour isn’t “that bad” I’m going to grab an IV drip and stick it in his neck. Lets just blame that last sentence on the hormones shall we?
The Peninsula Mumma xo