Oh, joy: TJ has been relaxing with, I think, his feet on my spine and his head poking out of my abdomen for the past 12 hours. It looks bizarre. And hurts. And does not make for a good night’s sleep.
I confess, when jumping around, eating porridge and going to the loo didn’t shift him, I played some especially dramatic Beethoven directly into my uterus. Does this make me a bad mother?