Me Three - Wobbly Heads
My sister is looking forward to visiting me and meeting her teeny tiny shiny new nephews in hospital.
Her lovely boyfriend, however, is worried about their robustness and just how breakable they will be when passed around for their first family cuddles. I share his concerns and pointed out to sis that I might suggest people just peer at them and coo and ooh and aah while they are in their cot. This was met with a smirk.
Evidently I am known, on occasion, to be marginally protective of my favourite things (any older sister will understand why) but Auntie thinks she will be ok to dive right in and pick up the most precious things I've ever had. Now, I don't want to be over protective and worry un-necessarily but can't I arrange for compulsory 'how to hold the twins safely' lessons for those early days visitors? The wibbly wobbly new born necks are mighty scary. I'm assured that with the arrival of your own children comes a level of confidence hitherto unknown... I'm just not sure that innate confidence extends to others and I don't want to spoil the first fuzzy family memories by barking instructions from the bed! Maybe I'll just close my eyes and hope for the best. A strategy I imagine I will adopt for many an anxious Mummy Moment, and one I have already begun to practice.
My enthusiasm for my bucket of breakfast came to an abrupt halt after a few measly mouthfuls when I felt a very sudden and uncomfortable tightening across my bump. I held my breath, closed my eyes and hoped it would stop as soon as it had started. Like I said, I've been practicing the whole 'close your eyes and hope for the best' approach. Sadly on this occasion it didn't work and twenty minutes later Daddy David was studying our Baby Bible to see if we needed to go full speed ahead to the hospital. The trouble being that, just like when you Google certain symptoms to be told that you are inconclusively either pregnant or having your period, the book deduced we were either having Braxton Hicks (no action required) or Pre term labour (action required). We chose the watch and wait approach and within an hour I was back to normal, albeit slightly tearful.
I think the false alarm episode, combined with a few others in which I have sobbed and snapped, suggest I am graduating from the pregnancy 'glow' to the pregnancy 'growl', common amongst grouchy third trimester twin carrying vessels with weird popped out tummy buttons. Surely the belly button phenomenon is like an oven timer and once 'dinged' is a clear indication that I am 'done'? Guess not. Grump grump.