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.
The only plan I have for parenting (cover your ears if you don’t like cuss words) is that I want to be a zen motherfucker. I know that sounds ridiculous; everyone probably sets out with the best intentions to be a chilled parent, but then life actually happens and all those crazy notions go out the window. (And… maybe a kid doesn’t want a chilled parent? Maybe they want someone lively, energetic, full of action and excitement and spontaneity and wildness.)
But! My instinct is: I want to aim for Zen MF. I love being around really chilled-out people – relaxed, laid-back, tolerant, warm & loving – I like the way they influence my outlook and behaviour. Like the cafe worker in Byron Bay. Life seems more beautiful when you’re really relaxed, or when you’re around really relaxed people. Though, super-chilled people are strikingly rare. Whenever I meet one (about once a year, I reckon!) I am jolted into recognising, in comparison, how much I’m still affected by stress. Even teeny tiny stresses.
I will soon find out if my intentions work In Real Life or not.
Before I began dating James, my longest relationship had been about… one year. Maybe two. I felt like something was wrong with me, because of that. When I used OkCupid, some people’s profiles would say things like: “If you haven’t yet been in a relationship for longer than 2 years, don’t bother messaging me.” (Way harsh, Tai.)
On Sunday, I officially entered the third trimester. Apparently, the first trimester is hard (sickness, weirdness, body changing, mind adjusting, getting your head around hospital appointments and nobody telling you what it’s all about and all the things you need to find or buy), the second trimester is easy, and then… the third trimester is hard again (back pain, lots of discomfort, wanting it to be over, pain and more pain). So, yay! I’ve got that to look forward to.
I went to Burning Man last year. There are so many things I could say about it. The hardcore preparation work you have to do (we were in a team of about 20 people, with one quite experienced leader, and we were all assigned tasks beforehand and afterwards – like buying enough water for everyone!). Eight days with no internet, no screens, no shops, no money being used. A city that is built almost overnight, housing 60,000 people in a semi-circle, then it disappears completely again – only the pure desert is left. How most camps have a theme, like Barbie Death Camp, where hundreds of Barbie dolls were posed in different situations where they were going to their death. How the other half of the circle has enormous artworks placed randomly, and you stumble across them while riding around the sand, on bikes…