Nearly there!

My body feels to be officially at capacity.  My lucky trip through pregnancy has been a relatively trouble free adventure and only now is this vessel starting to give way.  Sleep is becoming more difficult as once comfortable positions are now a strain.  My hands and feet are swelling and I have to leave my wedding ring in the jewellery box.

I have been to the hospital every week for months now and at the visit last week, it was decided that due to the position of the babies, their sharing a placenta and my ability to contain them for such a length of time thus far, that a caesarean would be scheduled for 5 January.  Frightening.  Exciting.  Happy.  Nervous.  It is an odd experience to know the day that I would stop being a pregnant lady and start being a mother.

So over the next week the house became evermore ready.  I had a pedicure courtesy of a friend's gift from my lovely baby shower.  And I baked, baked, baked.  Partly for the freezer and the weeks to come, and partly for Christmas.

Christmas was a subdued affair for Thom and I.  My body is just not up for much and after some time with family, we retreated to the sofa where I have taken to spending much of the evening propping up my enormous girth with a scaffolding of pillows at various angles.

Today, back to the hospital.  Being off work for a while longer, Thom tagged along.  We waited for ages, something to which I have become accustomed.  I read the ancient magazines and said hello to the midwives I knew as they bustled past with notes and urine samples.  Thom fidgeted and cringed at the static-plagued radio tunes that tortured his ears.

But finally we were called.  Some chit-chat followed by a thorough feel-up of the bump and a scan to reveal that the little guys had shifted to an awkward position: face-to-face in the middle with their bodies curling around.  One up and over, one down and under.  'Hmm, that's unusual,' the sonographer remarked.  They want to kiss, I said.  They want to scheme, Thom said.

Then the bombshell.  The consultant reviewed the notes and giggled at the way the funny wriggly men like to be face-to-face.  She  explained that waiting until 5 January seemed too long and as certain risks increase past 38 weeks, the c-section would be moved forward to Friday.

Ok, Friday, I said.  Wait, what day is today?  Wednesday!

So once again, Thom and I left the hospital stunned.  In awe that in two days we would be holding our little guys.  So what to do with our last two days?   Tomorrow I plan to clean the bathroom and change the sheets and give Thom a last minute mohawk trim.  But tonight, I'm making extra bread to pack away in the freezer.   And I have submitted myself to be a human mould.  Thom laid out plastic sheets and draped my bump in plaster to immemorialise my shape for the times to come when this stage seems a far away memory.

I must warn you, he said with a sly smile as he smoothed the mess around me, you may find this quite erotic.  Erotic? Maybe.  But it was certainly profound to look down at this massive bump that would very soon be part of the past, and two baby boys becoming part of our life and our future.

Elastic-tastic

I put on my jeans today and thought, 'In another week, I won't be able to squeeze myself into these!'.  I enjoyed a week at work, wearing trousers and dresses that were feeling just a little too tight.  A lovely light beige fitted shift dress has been hung up in the back of the closet after I strained its stitches with my emerging bump.  I said goodbye to it until next year.

I sit now in leggings and a slouchy top.  This is my evening uniform and I fear that elasticated waistbands are about to become my new best friend.  Thom and I made our way into town the other day and picked up some simple but stretchy-fabric dresses so I won't need to face the world naked as the weeks progress.  My mother is also sending some clothes, wisely in a size or two larger than I'd be ready to choose for myself.

Feels strange living in a body that is slightly different than my own.  The sensations of it within my clothes or washing in the shower feel odd.  It's changing quicker than my mind can adjust.  Yes, the stomach is bigger.  But that creates more issues than simple waistband selection.  I realised that its protruding was limiting how much I can see and the interior of my belly button may have been a little neglected.  It took some yogi-like bending to see if I had cleaned it well enough today in the shower.  Doesn't feel like me and it hasn't felt very attractive.

From the front, most people can't tell.  It still looks like I have a waist, but when I turn to the side - BOOM-  a round bump.  The belly protrusion is the obvious issue, but I must also share that two other things are getting in the way.  Boobs - almost the bigger issue right now (excuse the pun).  Squeezing into bras is a literally a pain.

Thom is not complaining, nor is he particularly sympathetic on this issue.  Some men on the streets of London seem to share his view.  They don't seem to notice the sticky-out belly as I approach towards them on the pavement and today one called me 'sexy' as I passed.  Me?  The one waddling towards the tube, inelegantly shoving a nectarine into her mouth not caring that the juice is dripping all over my hands, down my top and my face?  Ok, I'll take that.  Hey, everyone, evidently pregnant is sexy.