Somewhere in the summer dreamstate of 32-ish weeks.

I'm not sure what happened to the last couple of weeks. Christmas, I guess. And ungodly amounts of work. (So much so that I went back in for a few hours yesterday, while the building was closed, to get another set of pages off my desk and on to someone else's.)

Christmas was the usual palaver. One nan decided she was jack of it and stayed at home. The other one  (after handing out presents addressed to me and my brother but not our partners, and then having me re-wrap them because they were wrong, and then telling me they weren't her presents because she didn't recognise the paper she had just watched me wrap them in, JEEZ!) declared that she's getting 'the Alzheimers'. Uh huh. You could be onto something there.

D & S are fighting in a crazy way, so they weren't there... life is always complicated with them. I don't know how things are going to work out, but at the moment D has moved back in with my parents and hasn't seen his kid for more than a few hours in a couple of weeks. They're both booked in for some counselling, and both sets of parents are doing what they can to help them get their shit together but they've got some work ahead of them.

Oh lordy, I'm so glad the Boy is the Boy and I am me and together we are grown-ups who mostly deal with things in rational ways. We sure ain't perfect, and having a screaming infant in the mix is going to shake things up, but I do feel like we are healthy and sane enough to cope with it all and get past any bollocks we may have to go through.

So today is Thursday, and we've trawled the op shops for Mad Men ensembles for the party tomorrow night. Y has just dropped off a buttload of baby clothes that make we weep, they are so cute. If we have a boy, we're back to square one, but if it's a girl bean... set.

We've fire-proofed the house paddock at the farm like never before, and just have the firebreak around the paddock and the gutters left to do. We even cut the tree next to the water tanks down. (Although this photo was taken before it was completely gone.)

I've never seen it so clean. And green, too, for this time of year. Hopefully we won't have to worry too much, but there's always the sense of 'Is this a waste of time?'.  Nothing but sheer luck saved the place from Black Saturday, but putting all this work in will be worth it if there are some more 'normal' fires in the area this year. I don't think I was writing much here that year. Perhaps another day I'll recount our brush with mortality. Maybe in the depths of winter. It's a little too close to the bone when the sun is shining.

Baby-wise, I went to the hospital physiotherapist, and turns out that awful groin pain is not normal, and is in fact my pelvic bones grinding together. Lovely! So I have a very fetching elastic belly band thingo to wear, and strict instructions to get a whole lot of pelvic floor exercises done, and actually, things have improved a little.

There is more to say, but the Boy just came home and my belly wants feeding and I'm conscious of not spending too much holiday time on this machine. So I go. High on happy hormones and sunshine.

30 weeks, going on 42.

Image from here

Asian lady in the post office: 'When baby coming?'
Me: 'Not for a bit yet... Still about 9 weeks away.'
Asian lady, laughing uproariously: 'Oooooh! Looks like ready now!'
Me: Yup.

A life lived in fear is a life half lived.

So. We're really going to do this thing. I say 'we', but it's me. I have to get this baby out. *Exhale.*

We spent all weekend (really, 9.30-5.30 both days) ensconced in birth-land. After Saturday's explanations of hormones and chemicals and biological processes, I was quietly pumped to get the show on the road and do this 'normal physiological childbirth' business. No worries. And then Sunday involved psychological wild cards and pain experiments and contraction dress rehearsals and it was all I could do maintain my composure. My 'primal woman' wanted to burst into sobs and run away down High St never to return.*Exhale again.*

There were tears before bedtime, and I wished I'd not been such a goddamned informed hippie. Bring on the caesarean at Cabrini. But everything looks better in the morning, even when you wake yourself up crying. The last thing we did on Sunday was to visualise the first moment we will meet our babies. I'm trying not to do the ugly cry at my desk while I type this. The point was - I think - to reassure people that even with the best intentions, things don't always go to plan, and the normal birth everyone in that room wanted might not happen. But whatever goes wrong, everyone will still get that first moment. Even if it's hours later waking up from a general anaesthetic. Everyone meets their baby and can say and feel (and hopefully even do) whatever they want. That's the thought that was in my head as I stirred this morning. And it made me cry and cry. A tiny baby. We made a tiny baby.

I'm gradually regaining my equilibrium, and feeling a little more capable about it all. But just now as I was staring into space instead of working, that little line from Strictly Ballroom popped into my head. I haven't seen the film since I was about 15, and I'm not a rabid Baz fan by any means (Ugh! Australia! What the fuck was that monstrosity?) but something about that dinky little film has stayed with me, despite the almost total lack of acting ability possessed by Paul Mercurio. A life lived in fear is a life half lived. I am going to give this childbirth thing a red hot go. Because I CAN do it. Or I can at least try. And if I don't, I'll never know.

Also, I'm going to shut the hell up about my back and my hips and that awful tearing tugging in my groin. Because it's only going to get worse. And if I can't stick out some minor discomfort, I don't stand a snowball's chance in hell of getting through labour without intervention. Suck it up, lady. 11 weeks to go.

Just call me Leo.

I had a haircut. I look like Leo Sayer.

Which is funny, cos The Boy says he kind of looks like my Dad in a wig.