[disclaimer: excuse the mistakes. Swim outweighed the editing…]
It’s been a long time since Mother updated this blog, and she’s going to blame it squarely on her inability to concentrate on much else other than her doctorate, that threatened to be finished for the past 5 weeks, and otherwise being blissfully pregnant. At times her concentration levels does not always allow her to be clever after writing a piece of her D. So here goes a birds view of the past, what is it, 5 weeks, with a bit more emotion too it (blame it on the D, blame it on hormones – I’m spoiled with a choice of excuses that I exploit to the maximum, in the meantime re-enforcing all the stereotypes that surround me). Anyway, there are things I think about those moments when I’m not pondering on the idea of compensation for expropriation under the Constitution. They mostly pertain to Tito. So, I’m either expropriating or expecting. I thought that I would do the normal run-down of what vegetable type Tito’s been the past 5 / 6 weeks, before proceeding to the “confession booth”, where I spill my emotions about this Tito vegetable.
At week 17 Tito started out as a baked potato (or turnip, but with the German genes, I’m betting it wanted to be a potato rather), weighing as much as a turnip. This is also the week Tito started to develop sweat glands, something Tito will surely use if the Du Plessis genes are strong enough. This is the week that Tito started packing up the pounds, something that Tito is apparently quite good at. The tummy gurgles and the flattering inside were followed by a loud stomp one morning after I’ve been to the loo, which confirmed my suspicion that I’m being kicked around. The first “real” kick happened early on the Sunday morning while hubby was still asleep, and I just laid there with a big grin on my face.
Tito grew to a bell pepper in week 18. I was supposedly looking fabulous, but I won’t know how that differs from normally J, so I’ll just say I continued to look fabulous, despite my “condition”. Tito can actually hear us by now, and when no-one is looking I tell Tito how strange it is that (s)he is inside me (in Afrikaans). Tito also developed some strong bones, and worked on his/her nerves.
Week 19 was Tito’s week as heirloom tomato and a proportionate human being, that produces vernix caseosa. That’s a fancy word for “fetus wetsuit”. I’m also starting to become a heirloom tomato, expanding at an admiral pace. I threw away all the creams and lotions with paraben in it (which is almost all stretch mark stuff) and since I refuse to use bio-oil (“bio” because they use goose glands or something in it), and bought myself a big bottle of cold pressed olive oil to rub the tummy with. It works wonders, and leave me edible (if I don’t bite back, that is).
Tito was a banana (or a can or red bull…caffeine, hmmmm) in week 20, and saw the halfway mark. I’m getting more and more pregnant now. If we would have wanted to know what sex Tito is, this would be the week where we could start stalking our little flasher. No, we’re not going to find out. And next time someone asks again, we are going to use Kaz Cooke’s advice: we want a giraffe. They can walk and feed themselves two hours after labour. Tito is starting to sleep and wake up and seems to be especially awake after a bit of drinking yoghurt. I have not tried caffeine yet, but Tito’s delight when (s)he gets anything sweet or fruity makes me very fond of eating fruits, and provides the necessary excuse for some chocolate each day. Tito enjoyed a week in the Cederbergs, surviving a swim in the (very) cold rock pools. Probably due to that “fetus wetsuit”. Tito also kicked The Dad, who thinks that a kicking Tito is “echt geil”.
“What’s up doc” is probably Tito’s impression in week 21, Tito’s week as a carrot. A busy carrot that is. That is also the size of a bottle of beer. Hmmmm. Beer. Alcohol-free of course. Tito is now looking like (s)he would look like once (s)he is born, sucking thumb and yawning (when dad talks bullocks, most probably). We also slowly started to prepare Tito’s room – the best room in the house, with a view over the big thorn tree where two rats stay and the squirrels play. I have also found our baby clothes and toys, and look forward to returning to my own childhood again with the little one. I’m not sure how all those 70 style clothes would look on Tito, so I’m contemplating celebrating my 30th next year with a 70’s theme, so that Tito can play the part…
This brings us to week 22, this week. Tito as spagetthi squash. Or as long as a packet of Oreos. Or not. Because, see, we went to the gynea this week to make sure that all momy’s indulgence at her wedding did not cause Tito to have a clef plate, (or whatever it is in English) and he informed us that the baby is a little giant.
Supposedly this is the week when you realize “so, a baby is, like, forever”, and then supposedly the Winnie-the-pooh realization that “forever is such a long time”. I must say that realization struck me in the loo at home, and again in the waterfront loos when I saw those two stripes. I will never be without Tito, even if Tito is not with me all the time. Other than that I have no remarkable cravings, I don’t eat much more than usual (except if it’s a bowl of ice-cream), but I am having heart burn. Strangely enough not after the curry of last night, but otherwise I sound like a bunch of male students drinking beer. Beer. Hmmmm…. Alcohol-free, of course. I should supposedly start packing my hospital bag, but I think I will wait for the January sales to buy a fashionable bag for this purpose ;-)
The scan was über-cool. Tito was alive and kicking and not at all too happy with the gynea cramping his/her style with the sonar, although the sonar caught a glimpse of Tito smiling. All the bits and pieces are there, the heart has four (I think) chambers, everything else is fine. Tito has 2 x 5 fingers and 2 x 5 toes, the toes attached to two huge feet to go with the two huge calves. A front row rugby player without a doubt, whether a boy or a girl! Tito is supposed to be 500g, but according to the sonar Tito is a whopping 620g. That matches Tito’s equally big head. Expected weight at delivery is 4kg +. I think it’s karma, for the wounds I, as a 4.5kg baby, inflicted on my mother.
Things that I never knew about being pregnant:
- That the uterus hardens at times. When this happens, it feels as if there is a melon (well, it’s becoming a small watermelon now) inside my tummy.
- That a nipple does not have one hole from which the milk comes, like a bottle – it’s like a showerhead.
- That the bladder is situated under the uterus.
- That dreams about popping fishes and cats can be über-realistic (and therefore über-scary – every morning I wake up I check my nipples…)
- That motherhood is a club.
- That there are days where you don’t have to capacity to care for anybody else but you and the baby.
- That men’s excitement about the baby grows with the tummy.
- That the world is divided between breast feeders and bottle feeders, and that they are waging a cold war against each other.
- That that thing, where everybody touches your tummy – it’s true. And it brings out the inner bitch.
- That everybody knows something about being pregnant. No, EVERYBODY. And
people are not shy about advice (and/or criticism). I am contemplating printing me a T-shirt that says: I have a list of trusted advisors. You are not on it. - That a list like this is a never ending list.
So anyway, this is Tito so far, our little baked potato on its way to become a watermelon. Hmmmm….watermelon… Tito’s mom thinks there is something she’s got to eat now.
Bis nächste mal!ps. i did not enter the confession booth. it has something to do with 30 degrees and a swimming pool.
pps. There are some censored pictures of my (and me hubby’s) tummy on facebook. follow the link to http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=2170788&l=9dfd8&id=718510280
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