I like to think of today as the first real day of my maternity leave. Everyone else went back to work, but here in our workless household (G’s new job starts in Feb), the holidays trundle gently on. Today I spun out one hospital appointment and lunch with my Dad- a fellow member of the no-work club on account of being retired- for pretty much the whole day.
To be perfectly honest, I’m wondering how I’m going to fill the last few weeks before the babe arrives. The pavements are like an ice rink out there (nice of the virtually unprecendented Big Freeze to descend in the winter that I am heavily pregnant), so I can’t potter about the shops trying not to spend money. We’ve spent the past few weeks gorging and have tins of mince pies and florentines and christmas chocs coming out of our ears, so days spent baking in suitably motherly style are out of the window. The car died last week (brilliant timing), so I can’t go very far, especially not considering said icy pavements. And, well, I’m the size of a rhinoceros, so I can’t do very much even if I had the means to do so.
There’s no point starting anything major or planning anything big- that’s all going on inside my body (Bean’s head is 3/5 engaged and she’s the right way up- good baby). All I can do is sit in my centrally-heated cocoon of a house and wait.
As a result, I have the very odd but not unpleasant sensation of being suspended, floating in time- like the petals in a perfume distillery, or perhaps more appropriately for my current appearance, a pickled egg.
It’s curious. I hope this isn’t how madness starts.