I am 39 weeks and some odd days pregnant. That’s a lot pregnant, for those not sure on levels of pregnancy. This is the level where you are in a terrible limbo. Limbo between wanting it to end. Wanting to be done with the aching back. Wanting to be done being pointed at by strangers who are in awe of the, apparently, biggest pregnant woman ever seen on this island nation. And yet enjoying the last days of this particular brand of freedom. Of having one child. Of sleeping all night. Torn between two worlds, and also very large and constantly hungry with a 7lb baby doing starfish stretches inside my abdomen.
Today Dave and I had a lovely childless lunch while V took my parents for a walk. We ate slowly, and decided that with our spare couple of hours after lunch we’d sleep. In the hope of stocking up. And this conversation happened.
me: I wouldn’t mind going into labor after a nice nap.
Dave: Yea, after a nap would be ok……
me: Just ok?
Dave: Well…we’d miss taco night tonight!
A concern only for someone completely without a uterus.