Labour of love

I'm 34 weeks pregnant and have entered full labour day preparation mode.

I've watched 22 episodes of 'One born every minute'. With an average of 3 births per episode, that's 66 hair raising labours i've sat through - nails bitten back to knuckles.

I've been practising bouncing about on my birthing ball, breathing deeply and squeezing my bits in (sometimes all three at once - whilst watching Sherlock). I am having a bit of a problem remembering to do my pelvic floor exercises enough though. People keep advising me to do them every time I stop at a red signal or clean my teeth - well those are both fine ideas, but

Nocturnal manoeuvres in the dark

This baby in training seems to have inherited his mother's fidgeting and his father's love of late nights. It's cute and everything, and it's nice to have regular reminders that he's alive and kicking (literally) - but I can't sleep*. Partly because i'm being kicked in the stomach all night long, and partly because I can't help but lay awake worrying about what this says about this

Midnight...at the oasis

Well, like all women, I know what it's like to have men talk to your chest instead of your face, but last night I experienced an entirely new phenomenon.

For want of anything else to do, we saw the New Year in at the pub downstairs from our apartment. It's a smokey meat market dive, but it had a DJ and a live covers band, so we thought it would be fun - and it was. But from the moment I walked in I was acutely aware that all the men in the place were staring at my bump. Really staring. They would stop dead in their tracks