Two weeks. Thirteen days. Fourteen sleeps. What?! I’m confusing myself … anyway, it’s soon. VERY SOON.
I’ve been a manic mess the last couple of days.
I’ve whipped through Woolworths and Baby City like a crazy person, buying stuff. Losing parking tickets and having to spend R50 on an hour’s worth of parking. Forgetting stuff. Going back to Woolworths and Baby City. Forgetting what it was that I forgot to buy in the first place. Losing shopping lists, calling on Beauty to recall what was on said shopping list. Buying more. Realising I’d bought the same stuff a couple of days earlier and had just forgotten to take it out of the boot and put it onto the MOUNTAIN OF STUFF (I’ll call it “Stuff Mountain”) on the bed in the spare room.
Finally, after much nesting, packing, cleaning, arranging, crying, hyperventilating, list creating, drinking warm milk laced with Rescue Remedy and two-hour naps at 9 in the morning, I am DONE. Finished. Kaput. In every sense of the word. The packing is DONE. We are ready (as can be) for M to arrive, given the lack of space we currently have in our little Parkhurst home. We’ll make do with what we’ve got, space and stuff-wise.
I am also physically done, cooked and over. My feet are sore and feel swollen and some stages of the day. My hands get a little bit crampy. My back is KILLING me. I struggle, for a good hour, to fall asleep at night. I then sleep well until around 3am when my bladder obviously reaches capacity and needs to be emptied. But, of course, I don’t realise this and think I’m just uncomfortable, tossing and turning between 3 and 5am. I eventually roll out of bed and waddle to the loo, climb back into bed (need to invent some sort of pregnancy leverage device for this purpose – we’ll be RICH!) and then pass out cold. Alarm goes off at 6 and then the day starts again. Thank god I’m a morning person and am (usually) able to maintain my sense of humour during the first half of the day. Usually. Sometimes. Um … maybe not so much recently. But can you blame me? Sheesh …
This morning, whilst swinging into the Total garage on the way to work, I almost crashed into a petrol pump. I just caught the three pump pipes and they, along with the three petrol attendants who were unfortunate to be standing close by, all swayed nervously as I screeched to a halt. I may have been anxiously awaiting my big cup of M&B caffeine, which is why I was driving like such a ninkumpoop. That and the fact that I can’t really drive properly with the enormous torpedo sticking out of my midsection. Either way, I think that the roads of Jozi will be safer with me OFF them soon. Sorry petrol pump, nervous attendants and petrol station patrons. I won’t be placing your lives at risk for TOO much longer 😉
I had a little bit of a meltdown on Saturday night. We had climbed into bed and I was thinking about our December holiday.
“Should we take the camp cot for Luca? Would he sleep properly while we were down at the coast? Will he be okay with the baby sleeping next to me in the bassinet? Will he be okay when the baby arrives? OH MY GOD he won’t be my “baby” anymore. OOOOOOH MYYYYY GOOOOOOD I’m having another baby! OOOOOOOHHHHHHHH MMMMMMYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOD!”
And before I knew it, I was crying and freaking myself out completely, all the while Dave was telling me we’d be a-okay and that I just needed to calm down and DRINK THE MILK LACED WITH RESCUE REMEDY. For Dave to be telling ME to calm down is quite a turn of events. I’m usually the calm one. I realized, the next day, that he was 100% right. We WILL be fine. We WILL manage. We’ll have our ups and downs, our good days and bad days – as we did with Luca when he first arrived.
Speaking of my gorgeously perfect first-born son (FIRST BORN SON!), he is just the cutest thing on earth at the moment. What am I talking about? He’s ALWAYS cute. Just more so at the moment 🙂 He talks up a complete storm. He immediately responds to affections with “I luff you … mummy”. There is an audible gap between “I luff you” and “mummy” (or “daddy” or “kitty” or “Beauty”) because he’s thinking about who he’s saying it to, and if, in fact he wants to even say it or not. So you know he’s not just repeating it. He means it. When I tucked him into bed tonight with his rainbow blanket, doggie blanket, his “Lolly blanket” and the “one that keeps me warm” blanket (it’s a whole bedtime routine, these blankets), I told him “Sleep tight my angel, I love you nunu”. Without a second’s hesitation, he replied “I luff you my angel” and then let out a long, deep sigh. If my torpedo belly had allowed me to, I would have climbed into his cot with him and eaten him alive. Instead, I walked out, closed the door and wiped a small tear off my cheek. How did we get this right? He is incredible …
That’s it for now … need to be up and at it for my last week of work! LAST WEEK! EEEEP!
Sleep tight x