Control freak

No reason. I just like it.

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

So, I'm a control freak. An A-type personality. An Alpha female.

Whatever you call it, I'm that person who likes schedules, works to deadline and designs contingency plans for the contingency plans. You can probably understand, therefore, how hard it is for me to be chipper in the face of your non-arrival.

I'm 40 weeks pregnant today. That's 10 months, not nine. That's two months shy of a year of pregnancy. So today - as everyone I know is constantly reminding me via BBM, Whatsapp, SMS, email and phone -  is the due date. D-day. Today's Sunday 27 March 2011. Your day. Where are you, Thumps?

It's entirely possible that, since I am a model pregnant woman (previous smug posts have covered this sufficiently, so I won't dwell on it again here), you're so comfy and happy in there that you don't want to come out. And why would you? Tsunamis, power shortages, Libya - the world's a fairly awful place.

But what worries me is not so much that you're snug and cosy and quite content to stay in there til 'they' come get you, but that p'raps someone somewhere along the way got the effing dates wrong...

Another 10 days? The idea makes me want to cry. Loudly.

Not because being pregnant is so bad, because it isn't. And I'm nowhere near as uncomfortable as I was a few weeks ago (aside from the inability to walk properly and the shitty sleep). But because I'm ready to get started. Or, I was three weeks ago. And the readiness slips away with each week you don't come.

I also feel, control freak that I am, like an abject failure.

Everyone else produces a baby at 37 or 38 or 39 weeks, even naturally. [For what it's worth, I no longer buy into the whole 'most first-time moms deliver late' bullshit, as everyone I know from Preggi Bellies, antenatal class and everywhere else, including my school and varsity friends, has had their baby already, and is busy bonding over weigh-ins and such.] I'm a deadline person. And the deadline is today. Yikes.

I am used to producing the expected masterpiece on time.

Or before. I'm pathologically, reliably early. For everything.

I've been told that you're trying to teach me patience, and the critical parenting lesson that is: I can no longer control anything, and must fit into your schedule, whatever that may be. Fine. Well. Good. But can we get started? Because I'm fast losing my nerve. And I need my nerves. Or, so 'they' say.

The constant check-ups from loved ones and mates don't help. People mean well, but I feel worse with every call. No, I don't know where the baby is. (Well, I do, but...) No, we didn't forget to phone you. Yes, she's late. Yes, I have heard of the sex/curry/pineapple/reflexology/hot bath/long walk remedy...

Argh.

So, for me, for today, the critical parenting lesson is this:

You may be my daughter, but you're not necessarily like me. Or like Dad. I've gotta suck it up. You may be late for everything, forever. And that's going to have to be okay with me. 

May you be you. That's enough for me. Looking forward...

Love you.

Mom x

3 days to go

How pretty is your dandelion wall?

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

How're you doing in there, angel? To be honest, I thought (we all thought) you'd be here by now. 3 days to go til due date, and no sign of you. You must be enjoying yourself... So that's something...

Dad and I are feeling flat. About three weeks ago we were raring for the big moment: prepared, in tune, on the go. I felt fit and well-informed and on top of things. The bags were packed and in the car.

Now I'm bigger than ever, too weary to exercise, too achy to sleep, too far removed from antenatal classes to remember anything and both bags are in the bedroom and having things removed from them daily.

We're also falling victim to denial-mixed-with-conviction syndrome. In short, we're either convinced you're en route every single night, or talking ourselves out of the Braxton-Hicks actually being 'real'.

To be fair, the conviction part is more me than Dad.

So, we've decided to try to pretend to be on holiday.

The theory is: lunches out, movies, naps on the couch. You know, all Dad's favourite things. We're hoping to start this afternoon. Or tomorrow.

I'm still working half day ish, here and there. Which keeps me sane and makes me feel productive. I've also made some nice new friends - finally! Which I'm loving. But on the whole we're so excited to meet you, that we can't seem to focus much on anything else.

We do love your room, though. It's utterly divine.

Have a look...

Your cot

Our chair

Your desk-compactum

Your birdies

Your clock (okay, my clock)

Dad's systems (bath & bum)

Pretty Thailand lights

Yaya's lali (radio), Romy's lamp, our weird monkey

We love being in your room. It's such a peaceful, restful, calming place. Hope you agree. And even though it seems like being pregnant is a large practical joke and you're never, ever coming - much less on the verge of populating oh-so-your pretty room - we're going to hang there til it's time.

May you be a person who's always on time. Or slightly early. [She types, fingers crossed.]

Love you.

Mom x

Half day.

This is Rihanna. LOVE this pic.

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

You know, maternity leave - the bit before the baby comes - is a bit weird. I've worked at full tilt, 9 or 10 hours a day, for the last 9 or 10 years and I'm afraid I simply don't know how to switch off. At least, not while I'm at home.

My new routine? Wake up at 7. Eat. In bed, next to sleeping Dad. Get up around 8am or so to shower, change, feed cats, etc. Start work around 8.30am, and admit Roxana around 9am. Work in the office til 1pm or 1.30pm.

And then, veg.

TV (crappy TV), snacks (unhealthy kak), cats, or errands (expensive grooming or Thumper things)...

Til around 3pm when, typically, I look around in complete bamboozlement at how people fill days when there's no work to do - or, no work they feel like doing. And I find myself heading into the office to fetch my laptop, on which I then tinkle and twinkle for a couple of hours. Admin, marketing, general fiddling about, tweeting - you know, the stuff people who have salaries do to break the tedium...

And the guilt! G-d, it's hideous. I feel like the entire universe is scowling down at me for being such a lazy-ass during a perfectly good work day.

So, Thumps - my conclusion? I'm ready for you. For a new 24-hour-a-day occupation. For something other than work, study, success and self-promotion to occupy my mind and my time... For my business to evolve slightly and my mind to follow a whole new path for a while. And if that means a slight drop in earnings later on (I'll accept a 50% knock, I reckon, but no more), so be it. You're worth it.

I don't know much (yet), but I do know that.

May you have my work ethic. (No offence to Dad. But I am a superlative workaholic, me.)

Love you.

Mom x

Slacker Mom

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

The slacker who hasn't written to you in a while. Sorry.

To be honest, I'm starting to feel that last-two-weeks fatigue: you know, when there are no more milestones left; and we've celebrated your eyelashes and your elbows and kicks and hiccups and BHCs and 4D scan; and the room's done and bags packed; and you could arrive any minute, but you don't; and there are silly things to do that I don't feel like doing; and the waiting's getting boring... You know...

So, we're there. All that's left is you. We can't wait.

Seriously.

One of the things I've found strange about being pregnant is that everyone else seems so very excited about the baby's arrival, along the lines of, 'Yes, labour will suck but at the end of it, I get to be a mom.'

Hmmm, me not so much. Don't get me wrong: I'm super-excited to meet you and can't wait to have you in our life, and I'm sure I'll be fairly good at the mothering thing (eventually), but I'm not frothing at the gills to be that being they call 'a mom'. I'm just eager to meet you. To have you. To learn to love you.

And for that part, I can't wait. So, where are you? :)

The body's clever. By the end of nine months and two weeks and a bit, everything is so uncomfortable and I'm so large and ungainly (even the-usually-very-complimentary Dad has recently used the beached whale / harpoon / Greenpeace analogy) that - despite my wide array of anxieties, fears and worries - I'm thinking you'll be better out than in. I'm looking forward to being un-pregnant, and to being me again.

Except, this time, I'll be me plus you. A whole different me. Forever changed. And, hopefully, better.

Und now, ve vait.

May you inherit my chronic un-slackerishness and Dad's chronic chilledness, in equal parts.

Love you.

Mom x

Our bump shoot

When two people really love each other...

Dear Thumper,

Hi. It's Mom.

Dad and I had some pro bump photos taken recently, by the brilliant Patrick Furter, who did our wedding. We love Patrick - and he loves us - so the pics always turn out beautifully... And the shoot is always fun. And this time was no exception. Even Reacher got in on the action. Poser...

Here are some highlights, Thumps...

Love you.

Mom x

P.S May you always be 100% crystal clear on how completely, totally beautiful you are.

Mom's favourite place - the big bookshelf.

Mom and Dad, dreaming of you.

And now, for a word from our sponsors...

Reach gets in on the action.

Aren't you beautiful, Fump?

Bump to bump. Love it!

Guess who's in there...?

You didn't come.

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

So - you didn't come. But that's okay. We can wait.

And it was all a fairly good trial run for the real thing. Think Dad and I did well: no panicking, lots of calm organisation. Hopefully it goes the same way when it's really happening.

However, the last few nights have been unbelievably uncomfortable. It's hard to breathe, hard to find a comfy way to sleep and everything aches. There are also loads of pretty painful BHCs and many, many, many wees.

Last night I dreamed that your name was the M-name. You know, the favourite. And - unfortunately - the one that's very, very similar to what Greg & Soni have named Sadie's new baby sister, Mika. But in my dream you were already here and you loved your name. So maybe that's the second of two signs...

I am shortly having a delicious preggie massage and then taking it easy. There's work to be done, but I can't be bothered. Have already drawn up Dad's sms contact list for the hospital and typed up our birth plan. So that's enough for now. Coffee!

Have a beautiful day in there, Thumps.

May you like your name - whatever it is.

Love you.

Mom x

Are you coming?

Dear Thumper,

Hi. It's Mom.

So, are you coming?

I know I'm only 36.5 weeks along, with 24 days to go, according to Dad, but you're making all sorts of stuff happen in there.

• Last night I was bizarrely and uncharacteristically weepy. Not like me. And counter to my whole pregnancy to date. Dad took hours to calm me down and I woke up all puffy and miff.
• This morning, early, I had lower back pain. Like period pain. Again, unlike me and unlike things so far. But it went away.
• Lunchtime, or just after. Dad and James came home from lunch and I had a funny feeling. I'm a bit skaam to describe it here - which is silly, cos you're my kid-to-be and I'm about to spend several years wiping your little bum, but this is the Interwebs after all... So I'll just say, there was some strange leakage. But it went away.
• Tonight, standing in the kitchen, I asked Dad to take a photo of me in Auntie Tanya's lovely preggie pants and the red top Yaya bought for me in Woolly Moolly. And just as he was about to take it, I had a weird pain right across my bump. Never had one like that before. I got a fright. Pulled my 'ouch' face; the one Dad thinks is funny. Closest thing to a contraction I could think of.

And so we got busy with the iPhone contraction timer. Baby's Coming, it's called. And it's great. Problem is, I then had four contractions, 20 minutes apart, of about 90 seconds each, for over an hour. And now we don't know if you're en route or not.

Things got a bit irregular after that. We phoned Midwife Marilyn - who suggested two Panados and a hot bath, surprisingly :) - and said it might be early labour. So now we're in bed and we're to call her when 'things' are five minutes apart.

You can imagine what happened after that. I had to wash my hair and shave my legs, just in case. Dad got busy packing the gear bag: Kindle, camera, phones, iPods, etc. Dad made your bed. Dad checked the bags - both of them; yours and ours.

And I made a list of all the clients I'm going to have to ass-lick if indeed there's no more work for me:

• Tomorrow's training client.
• Friday's - fok.
• Safrea - and the 30 people coming to a) hear me speak and b) enjoy the evening I need to host.
• Monday's training client.
• The two clients who still want changes.
• The few students with marking due.
• The two clients that I owe small work.
• And the few who're waiting on prep.

YIKES. Oh well. I'll have to apologise profusely and get over it. Fast. You're more important. Promise.

I'm still fairly sure it's a false alarm. But denial is apparently a strong labour sign...

We're now 15 mins, 14 mins, 11 mins apart - no pain, no real discomfort, just funny twinges that start in the bladder almost, stretch across the whole belly, and then end with a final twinge in the bladder. Useful when trying to gauge duration, but not sore or even unpleasant... Which is weird. You also tend to kick in between, which is interesting :)

I'm gonna sign off now. Better get some rest in. We might be seeing you soon. Sooner than we thought.

May you only ever do things in your own sweet time.

Love you.

Mom x