I know I shouldn’t be impatient. After all, he’s not even due til tomorrow. But I’d assumed Bub would be in a hurry, just like his mum, and would surely be with us waaaay before time.
The latest midwife visit seemed to confirm my assumptions, when she’d checked his position and smiled, “I’m not sure you’ll make it to 40 weeks!” So naturally, I thought I’d be happily cradling my little bundle by now. But no. I can only attribute his tardiness to the mañana mentality, which I imagine he’s inherited from his (Spanish) dad.
Anyway, I really am trying not to be I am impatient. But I just can’t help it. After nine months of carrying this little soul in my belly, I’m more than ready to meet him.
I want to know what he looks like, how tiny his toes are, how pink and wrinkly his little limbs are; whether he’s happy or cantankerous or just plain sleepy. I want to marvel over his crumpled little face and look for traces of my own reflected in his diminutive features.
In the last two weeks, he’s become truly heavy: turning over in bed has become a logistical challenge and I’ve finally had to resort to propping up the bump with a pillow. Even the XL coat that I bought to replace the original size S is straining at the seams. Spring is (finally) starting to spring and there’s no more ice on the ground in the morning … all of which says to me that my little pud is well and truly cooked and it’s time he put in an appearance.
And yet he remains securely snuggled in my belly, reluctant to leave his cosy little den.
Still, I can’t really complain. Some things are going very smoothly indeed: He Who Shall Remain Nameless has been cheerleading for Bub, and brightening my days with his attentions.
Although there are many factors that preclude this from being The Next Big Romance, it’s a real pleasure to know that someone is thinking of me and cares enough to send me the odd text, just to see how my day is going.
He Who Shall Remain Nameless has also reminded me how much I like hugs and kisses, too. They’d pretty much faded from my memory, being replaced with internal kicks and wriggles – which, it must be said, have their own special charm – but now the luxury of sharing body heat is back on the agenda and I feel like the cat that got the cream.
To be honest, I’m seriously impressed that someone is prepared to take on the task of hugging me. After all, at the moment, I’m not easily huggable. But HWSRN has risen to the task, and even seems to enjoy hugging both me and Bub at the same time.
But still, despite all this happiness, I’m impatient. I want to welcome my son to the world. Every day that I’m still at work, every day that he’s not here, is a torture. All I can do is appeal to his better nature, beg him to make his mind up quickly and start his journey into the world at his earliest convenience.
There are so many things I want to tell him and show him, so many places I want us to go – so many tastes and sights and sounds for him to enjoy. So come on, little fella. Put me out of my misery. Come and join this fabulous and exciting world.
Or in other words … stop hanging around and HURRY UP, BUB!!