
This is it.
Five more weeks.
Five more weeks till we welcome James Edward into our lives and home. Five more weeks before I have to remember how to feed, burp and change a newborn’s nappy once again.
In true Mason form, this little guy likes to do backflips in my uterus whenever he hears daddy talking about cars and petrol. (Which is often.) In true Chan form, he doesn’t seem to like sleeping at night, even when it’s 2am in the morning.
Books always seem to encourage women to take it easy in their third trimester. Have the writers of these books actually been pregnant themselves?
I mean, seriously, the closer we get to James’ D day, the faster my to do list seems to grow. As Chandler says in The One With The Tiny T-Shirt: “Bullets have left guns slower.”
Let me see: There’s Pete’s baptism and 1st birthday party next Sunday.
Then we need to re-do Angus’ room to turn it into ‘the boys’ room.’ (This of course means trips to IKEA, which I have to say, is not the best place for a waddling and hormonal pregnant woman. It’s a true testament to how far Rick and I have come in our marriage that when we went yesterday, we managed to arrive amicably and depart amicably.)
Then there are the six design jobs that I have on. And Angus’ toilet training. (Or not.)
And of course there’s the photography course I enrolled myself into last November. No, I was not at all crazy to think that squeezing in a three hour weekly course would be an easy, breezy thing to do a month and a half out from giving birth.
Oh, and that’s right, I need to try and remember how to get a baby out of me. (It’s a good thing I have a ‘cheat sheet’ saved in Evernote somewhere.)
So yes, I’m all calm and everything. Really I am. The epitome of the relaxed, expectant mum.
How fast has this pregnancy flown by anyway? It feels like only a couple of months ago that I was freaking out about telling my parents that I was pregnant again.
And I still can’t believe that Pete is turning one next Sunday. I honestly can’t believe it. Where has my little newborn gone? I still remember bringing him home from hospital, putting him into his first Love Me Baby wrap and getting constantly peed on every time I had to change one of his dirty nappies.
I’m absolutely determined to make the most of these last five weeks with Pete being the littlest one in the house. He’s going to get kissed and cuddled and kissed some more, every single day, whether he likes it or not.
Oh, and remember the jeggings I couldn’t stop raving about? Well, they still fit me.
At 33 weeks.
As I said: Best. Pants. Ever.