I saw Dr Taki yesterday and he told me that the baby’s head is ‘engaged’.
I’m just relieved her head is locked safely down in my pelvis, because I have indulged the temptation to press down on some of the bumps that have risen up to the surface of my belly recently – and then felt concern that maybe I’d poked her in the eye or something equally unpleasant.
The mornings are achey, painful in the fingers, stiff, sore-throated, trapped-winded and stuffy nosed. By evening I’ve loosened up and my body feels pretty much fine.
I complained to Taki about my horrible Carpal Tunnel issues, and he said:
“The treatment is…” And paused, as I looked on in anticipation.
“Giving birth!” (and then he laughed slightly manically).
The baby’s head seems to be bobbing up and down on my inner ‘poo button’. I can be happily sauntering back from Sainsbury’s with my hands full of shopping bags, and out of nowhere, an urgent requirement to evacuate my bowls will overcome me. 9 out of 10 of these are false alarms and they happen all throughout the day, leaving me flapping back and forth from the kharzi like a demented homing pigeon.
We’re so curious to see what she will look like. We’ve concluded that if she has my nose and Jake’s curly hair she will look like Barbara Streisand.
My dad helpfully reminded me that upon my birth, my face held an uncanny resemblance to 80’s Labour politician Arthur Scargill:
We made the mistake of Googling a ‘mucus plug’ last night. Truly rank. Like something from the special effects department on the set of Ghostbusters. It put us off our Nandos that’s for sure. You’re tempted to Google it now, I can tell. But don’t. Really, don’t.