It’s Monday the 7th July. Our due date was
yesterday.
Now I’m not saying I was expecting the little one to be born
on that exact date, but after a trip to the consultant on Friday during which
we were told that we were very favourable and that baby was more than likely to
arrive soon, we did very little over the weekend and didn’t stray too far from
home. Or from each other for that matter.
It turned the entire three day weekend into one of those
lazy restless Sundays, where you’re just bumming about the house, not knowing
what to do and just wiling away the hours (that go by interminably slowly)
waiting for bedtime/Monday morning/something to happen.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
It’s incredibly frustrating, just waiting and waiting so
over the weekend we tried a variety of different methods to ‘encourage’ the
little one. Jenny had a bath with some sort of…stuff, that supposedly can
kickstart labour. Didn’t work. We drove over a bumpy road, twice. Nothing. We
had spicy food all three nights. Nada. Jenny bounced on the exercise ball like
her life depended on it. Zip.
We haven’t tried sex yet. Mainly because a) as we noted
before, pregnancy sex is all kinds of weird, and b) at the consultant
appointment Jenny had a sweep, which is exactly what it sounds like. The doctor
stuck two fingers up my missus, had a feel around, and told us she could feel
the baby’s head. So if she can feel that with her fingers, I’ve no doubt I
could feel it with my wang. Unless, as I didn’t really look at how far the
doctor was all up in my wife, she was like wrist deep in my wife’s lady parts.
I don’t think my manhood is that long. But still, I would be like Seth Rogen in
Knocked Up, not wanting to poke my baby in the face with my dick.
So we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock….
No comments:
Post a Comment