I know at least four women who are pregnant at moment. A first-timer (I have put straight about the joy of childbirth, don’t you worry) and some old hands. And those are only the ones that I know about. Love to you all ladies. I wish you happy pregnancies, easy births, elastic vaginas, hardy nipples and sleepy babies.
There are also a couple of new babies around at the moment too, which has Bibsey utterly enchanted. This comes at a time when Mr B and I are having some serious and sober (yes, I know that is not how you make babies) thoughts about another baby ourselves. I don’t think that it is an easy decision for any family after a miscarriage. But this is not a post about that. I don’t think.
Anyway, Bibsey already knows that two of my friends have babies in their tummies (oh incredible and exciting fact of life) and has recently seen pictures (see heavily edited photo above) and video of herself as a bump. I thought that this would help her to understand better. Of course she has been asking me if I have a baby in my tummy. Sadly no.
Highlighting the fluffier aspects of pregnancy and childbirth
She has also very helpfully offered up her own tummy for the job. This is a child who has so far had all her ‘sex education’ (do they still call it that?) from Topsy and Tim, whose neighbours seem to be in a perpetual state of expectation and delivery.
Imagine Bibsey’s joy at actually witnessing someone breastfeeding (oh incredible and exciting fact of life) at a party this weekend. She seemed to understand that a quiet approach was in order, but she hasn’t quite grasped the concept of ‘personal space’ yet. And, with a baby clamped to your breast at a BBQ, personal space is at a premium, right ladies?
That evening before bed we discussed breastfeeding. She said that she could remember it herself. This is an assertion that I am taking with a pinch of salt as she was only 14 months when I downed tools and popped by boobs back in my bra. However, if she can remember that, then surely she can remember this little video that I stumbled upon recently that has never before seen the light of day:
I think that all the bumps and babies and breastfeeding have made me not quite broody, but a little nostalgic. Can you tell? The very, very last breastfeed that I gave Bibsey was the morning that I went in to hospital for my D and C (the necessary evil that must be endured when you have a missed miscarriage). We had been cutting down the feeds for months until that morning feed was the last one. This was mostly because I was too lazy to get out of bed in the morning to arse around with bottles.
I remember only days before feeding Bibsey in bed and thinking ‘I’ve got one baby on the boob and one in my belly. What an amazing machine my body is’. Sadly, the truth of what was actually happening in my body was not so amazing. Sorry this is rather a deflating end to what should be a happy post.
On a far brighter note. Mr B just went past and looked at the belly shot and said “I still can’t believe that she made it out of there”. So, pretty amazing after all, eh?
