- Week 31, day 1
- Baby boy
- Name TBC
- Mood of significant other : Unknown, as she is partaking in her seventeenth daily nap
As the weeks tick by, we’re nearing ever closer to the arrival of the little man. It’s exciting, but I don’t think the notion of our lives drastically altering forever will fully sink in until he’s actually here in my arms, keeping me awake, and shitting in the bath. To date, our only worry is whether Robyn can master her bladder in the dead of night, or if we need to change the sheets… again.
Very much like learning to drive, when it comes to parenthood I often think, ‘It can’t be that difficult, my Sister can do it and she often reverses into walls’. However it’s rather daunting when you’re under so much pressure to love, care, and provide for a tiny, helpless human being. I guess it’s fine to make minor mistakes, as long as you steer away from any of the majors (three driving puns in one, you’re welcome).
Recently I popped down to see the Mother Goose. Both my Ma and my Dad are currently attending Spanish lessons, and they’re both already better than me. I was scanning through their ‘AA Spanish phrase guide’ and I stumbled across a magnificent piece of literature. It really is fantastic, and extremely educational. I’ll be sure to hang on to a copy for Boyo, as it will surely come in handy when he’s on his first lads holiday to ‘Magaluf’. Here it is below.
I love how it spells out how to pronounce it like a stupid Englishman.
‘Ehsoh ehs ich keh deethehn tohdosh’, apparently translating to ‘that’s what they all say’. Though it sounds more like a pissed up Glaswegian attempting to order a portion of Chicken.
We have 9 weeks to go now in theory, and the nausea and sickness has come back with a vengeance for Robyn. It’s usually triggered just as the football starts and I’m sitting down for tea licking my lips at a Chicken Biryani, until I’m suddenly summoned into the bathroom to rub her back while she projectile vomits and sobs for twenty five minutes. It really does take it’s toll on both of us, I think we’re both handling it very well. It can’t be easy though when you constantly need to urinate and your unborn child continuously attempts to punch and kick his way out of your stomach like some kind of demon child.
Robyn’s mood swings haven’t been as bad as I thought to be fair. She’s actually rather tolerable, even with the spawn of Satan constantly swinging on her bladder as he tries to claw his way out the womb on an hourly basis. She does however get narky with some of the ridiculous comment and questions we get asked on a daily basis. The best comment I’ve heard all pregnancy was only last week when we was sitting in a bar watching the Football and someone innocently declared to Robyn, ‘Finally I can see you’ve put on weight, I can tell by the size of your legs’. It really was amusing, until I realised I then had to spend the day with a hungry, angry, hormonal pregnant lady who doesn’t actually like football.