I’m a week overdue at this point and baby is showing steady signs of wanting to come out but after two false alarms I’m trying my best to dismiss the odd twinge or niggle, and focus my thoughts instead on small wins.
Like sunshine in England in January.
And a brilliant partner offering an unlimited supply of back massages.
And the pure, momentary delight experienced when one conjures the perfect pot of tea.
Throughout this past week, I’ve pondered the place of pregnant bodies in public spaces and I’ve thought a lot about how our bodies are publicly visible, open to public discussion, and, for some people, a temporary piece of public property. I was fortunate to not have to cope with the unsolicited ‘I just love pregnant bellies’ touch but I know many people who have smiled through such an experience.
Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand how that has arisen and I’ve no doubt contributed to the assumption that pregnant bodies are open for comment but at 41 weeks, well I guess I’m at the point where I’m just kinda done. At 41 weeks I want to be able to walk down the street to my local cafe and not feel like I’m a human billboard open to each and every ‘When are you due?’ Popping soon?’ question and knowing glance. At 41 weeks I want to be able to squeeze past someone without bumping them and initiating a polite but repetitive ‘Ooh, carrying a big load there’ conversation.
Of course, I am aware most of the queries and check-ins are well-intentioned, loving and enthusiastic. All the questions and smiles really reflect an overwhelming, innate excitement humans have at the prospect of new life. And how totally joyous is it that even the most hardened of people can get a little giddy at the idea of a woman preparing to bring a new person into the world.
But come on baby, Mamma’s well and truly cooked.