So, we’ve been a week in our little house and I think we’ve settled well. The cat is still skittery and the two of us have cabin fever, due to the fact that a) she’s not allowed out for another week and I’ve not been out much and b) she’s really quite annoying at times. But still, it could be worse.
My family are down for a few days and we’ve been to buy a pram. This has been a massive step in mentally preparing for Fidget’s arrival, which is now in about nine weeks (or less. The midwife thinks he’s a big baby, so could could decide to make an entrance a bit early.) We hadn’t bought the pram because we didn’t have room in the old flat and also my parents wanted to save up and get us something we wanted. We also have a little crib, thanks to some friends who gave it to us as a gift. This is now in the second bedroom, which alternates between being the ‘spare room’ and the ‘baby’s room’. We’re a bit reluctant to label it definitely, I think, until he arrives. Similarly, Fidget does have a name (and has had for months), but is still most often referred to as ‘the baby’, ‘Fidget’ or, if he’s really causing me organ pain, ‘YOUR son.’ Anything else just feels like it’s a bit… jinx-y.
The thing now is to get my head around everything else. I think I started to come to terms with the fact that my life will change; in fact, bawling my eyes out at 11pm a few weeks ago, it did kind of hit home. Also, I can no longer see my feet when I stand, I have a bump the size of Jupiter that suddenly came on overnight and I have stretchmarks more complicated than the London Underground map. It’s pretty hard to be in denial when you have the evidence squarely in front of you. Can I also mention that I miss my toes?
In just over two months, a whole new person will be here. A whole new person who will need at least seven clothing changes a day just to showcase all the clothes he’s been bought so far. He is so going to rival the male models in London Fashion Week on that score.