I’d always said that I’d be happy to have a baby if I found a man who was willing to have the baby while I played the “father” role. Now we’re getting to the pointy end of this pregnancy, I wish I’d stuck to my guns. I’m at week 31 of about 40 weeks, and the baby is so big that he’s starting to affect my breathing. The shortest of walks leaves me breathless and feeling light-headed (such a charming phrase, but oh boy, it’s really terribly unpleasant, especially when you sit down and it still doesn’t go away).
All of the baby’s movements used to be between my belly-button and my pelvis (it’s not often you get to write the word pelvis! Or Elvis!), but now things are changing inside me and he’s decided a studio apartment isn’t enough – he needs two bedrooms and a spa bath. So now I’m feeling movements between my belly-button and my chest. Whatever he’s doing with this rearranging of the furniture/walls, my lungs aren’t happy. Pant, pant.
On top of all this, James has begun to casually drop the notion of “kids” here and there… his parents live on a farm, and the other day he said, “I wonder if our kids will like the farm as much as I do.” Oh, well, okay, mister! Next time it’s your turn. In a modern person’s world, I think it’s only fair that the man produces his share of the babies.