My bump has gone from ‘neat’ to so huge that S laughed at me when he realised how large I’ve become. “That’s one big baby,” he chuckled, not exactly providing reassurance to the woman charged with pushing said big baby out of her fwa-fwa.
Hilarious, then, that this month three people in one day told me that I was looking ‘slim’. These people were either being very kind, or they need a trip to Specsavers.
At least I’m still getting some compliments, because I’m not feeling at my most attractive and the bloke who works in the office cafe isn’t helping matters. He’s obsessed with guessing whether I’m having a boy or a girl. His gender prediction method is to look at a pregnant woman’s face and then, if you’re me, to insult it.
Last week he mused: “If a woman is more beautiful, she’s having a girl. I think you’re having a boy.”
The praise didn’t stop there. This morning’s exchange in full:
Café bloke: “Ask your husband if you’re more pretty. If you’re more pretty, you’re having a girl.”
Me: “You need to stop telling me that I’m less pretty.”
Café bloke: “I’m not saying you’re less pretty. I’m saying you’d be more pretty if you were having a girl.”
Me: *makes face that is definitely not pretty*
Elsewhere, I’ve been practising on some real-life babies. One advantage of being an older mum is that most of your friends and family have kids that you can test your skills on.
Props to baby Ami, who let me swaddle him repeatedly without complaining, although he did look extremely surprised. Big thanks also to my baby niece Eva, who let me get her ready for bed, took a bottle from me and even gave me a hug of appreciation when we said night night.
This is a big improvement on years ago, when my friends first started having babies: they’d usually scream and throw up on me when I held them (the babies, not my friends). I hope I can continue this upward trajectory in time for bubski’s arrival.