Weeks 22-25: the house guest October 28, 2007

While I am officially down with the being pregnant concept now, I am still yet to completely be jiggy with the idea of welcoming a new person into our home in three short months.

When I think about the baby, I am fine thinking about where it is now, kicking away, fine thinking about giving birth (well, kinda) but it’s the after the birth thing that’s still hard to conceptualise.

The closest I can come is thinking of the baby as a new house guest. It’s not someone we already know, really, more like hearing about a distant long-lost relative coming to stay who we’ve never met before, but know a bit about. We can make some guesses about what kind of clothes and bedding to get ready, how our lives might change in terms of routine, but that’s about it.

It’s hard to explain. There’s just so much mystery, in many ways, mostly because The Beloved and I are so damn curious to meet the little thing, feeling it kick in my tummy, and have spent many hours wondering whose fingers it will get, whether it will have the two little curls of skin behind its ears like its father, hate being woken up, just like its mother … who knows. Will it get my nose?

We have also been talking a lot about how to set boundaries, and what we might do in certain circumstances. Should it get pocket money (yes, for doing extra chores over and above the ones we all get to do as part of the house)? What about clothes and appearance (happy to support whatever fashion or appearance it chooses, even if that means supporting it through gritted teeth)?

I have been reading Gina Ford’s The New Contented Little Baby Book, the first I’ve come across that does away with waffle and says, right. Week 1, when you get home from the hospital, 7am, get the kid up. She lays out hour by hour what needs to happen to ensure the kid gets fed, watered and put to sleep regularly, and all with parents’ sanity in mind. It has been a godsend for my peace of mind. The last thing I think either The Beloved or myself would want is a baby that needs constant rocking to be put to sleep, up all bloody night and is a fussy boob juice drinker. At least, so it seems, we are able to minimise these fussy elements and get things into a routine fairly easily and quickly.

Of course, babies don’t read the manuals. So we shall have to see. Even if the CLB routine doesn’t work at first, we have it as a basis for working towards.

I have had some great ideas for baby clothes, as I have finally given up looking for anything remotely different or interesting at a reasonable price in any of the stores here.

I was in London last weekend with the scrumptious MellaStella, and as we wandered around Portobello Road I came across some really seriously cute baby clothes: all bright colours, each different … each costing £8-£20 a pop. Now, these are items a baby will grow out of in about two weeks, so who-ever was making them was clearly on a winner.

Some of the clothes would be quite easy to copy, I reckon – they were just tie-dyed in really bright colours. So that is my first project. I only need a couple of buckets, rubber bands, baby-safe clothing dye and several different sizes of baby clothes and we’re away.

I figure it’s a project I can take on once we’ve moved after Christmas and I’ve stopped paid work for a while and I’m sure I’ll be busy just getting nesty and ready for baby.

Some of the other baby clothes were stencilled with some very cool graff art and cultural stencils that I think would also look really cute – again I can just buy some baby-friendly fabric paint, some acetate and get cracking.

It can’t be that hard to copy a Sex Pistols album cover in size miniature, can it?

Weeks 22-24: disco dancing October 11, 2007

My little disco dancer,

Your disco dancing is verrry cute. In the past few days your father has been able to feel you dancing away in there when he puts his hand on my belly.

We had our scan the other day, only two weeks or so after we were meant to, only because your mother currently boasts a butter brain, and got the days confused. Regardless, the scan went well, you have ten fingers, ten toes, a kind of freaky looking but totally normal spine but whether you have a willy or girl bits? That’s something we’re going to have to wait to find out. We chose to look away, although your father confessed later that he nearly peeked.

Your grandmother is here from Australia, and she brought with her about half the nation’s fitted nappy supplies, at least five sheep’s worth of knitted garments, some of which I’m sure will only fit you for about a week, some badly needed Bonds boyleg undies for your mother and – !praises be! – Australian chocolate.

We also toured France for about two weeks, so we can officially say that you’ve technically swum in the Mediterranean.

While I’ve been enjoying your wee dancing shenanigans, I’ve definitely not been enjoying the EXTREMELY FUCKING AGONISING leg cramps that have woken me up over the past few nights. I used to suffer from foot cramps when I swam a lot as a young kipper, but those cramps were nothing like these.

Nothing much else to report at the moment. My tiredness comes and goes, as does my energy; I think I am in the nice middle period of not being too uncomfortable physically and getting excited about meeting you and beginning my parenting life.