- Week : 30 today!
- Baby boy
- Name : TBC
- Mood of significant other : She’s made herself sick by eating too many fajitas, so I’m guessing ‘full and queasy’. It wont be safe to ask her directly.
If you have clicked on this link thinking it’s going to be some sort of twisted and perverted ‘How to’ guide, then I’m sorry trench coat, its not. There’s most likely a full category dedicated to your musings on Porn hub, so open up a new window, the following is purely educational.
I’ll begin with stating, I fucking love sleeping. I really do. Naps, siestas, lie-ins, I love them all. Therefore due to the fact that we’re ten weeks off welcoming a screaming bundle of sleepless joy into our lives, I cherish every chance to snooze now more than ever. However lately, I find it more difficult to get a good nights sleep as the days tick by. This is mainly due to the growling, farting, restless egg that sleeps next to me (you’re doing a great job by the way honey).
When calling it a day, I have acquired an evening routine that I’ve perfected throughout the years. Usually (with dazzling flair and a dash of pizazz), I enter the bedroom in a dressing gown, quietly singing Randy Newman’s ‘You can leave your hat on’. Once I have gained the targets full attention, I would then gradually begin to sing louder while circling the room, stunning her into silence by flailing my legs aggressively in her direction. Peacocking intensely, I eventually tire and finish with a spinning twirl or a lofted knee kick. She obviously melts with delight, and I unveil my cleanest Primark boxers with a cheeky smile and hop into bed like the naughty minx I am.
These days, the routine has slightly changed. Robyn is usually in the living room watching ‘one born every minute’, sobbing into a bag of crisps while tentatively bobbing up and down on her yoga ball like a disgruntled apple. She soon becomes tired, and beckons me over to help her dismount. I of course oblige, and on a ‘1,2,3’, I lift with the knees and walk her into the bedroom.
*I’ve been watching her flop around throughout an entire episode of Man V Food.
Now we’re expecting, we attempt firstly to locate a mattress amidst the Everest of orthopaedic pillows in our path. Eventually, I gently lower her into bed and watch as she heroically attempts to remove her socks. This can take anywhere between 30 to 45 minutes, usually reducing her to tears at least twice with an interlude to eat Haribo. I then make her up a hot water bottle, tuck her in, and we discuss whether her belly button will ever be the same again. Eventually after hours of toiling, she falls asleep athwart a throne of pillows, snarling open mouthed like Jabba the hut preparing to release the Rancor.
Throughout the night, between countless trips to the toilet and systematically farting herself awake, she of course wakes me in the process just in case I was sleeping too soundly. We then discuss the weird dream she’s had, until she falls back into dreamland. It’s an endless cycle of joy…
I know, you must all feel so sorry for me, it is hard. It’s all part of the pregnancy though, and I rarely complain about it. Just something you have to go through in the process, and it’ll be worth it in the end. On a positive note, I can now park in the blue ‘pregnant’ area in shopping centres.
Here is a picture of my ‘Jabba’…
(Who I love more by the day for carrying our child. Never been prouder of anyone in my life) <3
Also, we’re 30 weeks TODAY!
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