I had two crikey-this-is-really-happening moments yesterday.
One was wearing an actual maternity dress – no waistline, no zips and buttons, no constant readjustment of that blasted belly band – and feeling immense gratitude on behalf of my bump. It’s a bit odd to be floating around the corridors of the chapel like a ship in full sail, but oh, the joy of eating without straining any seams!
(No longer am I fairly normal-sized in the morning and huge in the evening, by the way. It’s All Huge, All The Time here at the House of Jeffcoat. How long will it take, I wonder, before I break my lifelong vow of solemnity and venture outside in tracksuit bottoms, without the intention of doing exercise? That elasticated waistband is looking mighty friendly these days.)
The other was receiving a bag of hand-me-down baby clothes from a lady at church. We spent a squealy half-hour looking through them afterwards. They’re all boys’ clothes, so we only have a 50/50 chance of being able to use them, but it was adorable.
My thoughts here are hovering somewhere between ‘look: they’re so small!’ and ‘you mean it’s going to be THIS size by the time it has to come out?’
TJ, incidentally, is now almost the length of a ruler from head to foot. He is determined to master the backstroke before he emerges and spends many hours practising. I do like a foetus with life-goals.