If a week is a long time in rich creamy politics, consider how long 24 days is to a semi-skimmed mother-to-be.
Well Gordon, you may have suffered from some kind of election dysfunction this week, but spare a thought for us poor mothers-to-be. Take my friend Clare, who last Monday was expecting to give birth to her son. It was a long week that followed, and we are awaiting the news of his birth still. The little boy will be born with a condition known as achondroplasia, a type of dwarfism. Clare and Andy have a blog which chronicles their journey so far. The couple are a remarkable testament to their faith and I cannot imagine people better suited to help this little boy and nurture him well.
Another friend, from ante-natal class, went into premature labour a week ago. Two months early. With more miracle science the hospital were able to slow things down, but it has been a tense week for them too.
I have hardly had a rough time in comparison, although a trip to the maternity physio department this week taught me that one of my legs is too short (only in relation to the other, understand). And doubts that I can sleep on my left side, as advised by my midwife, has led to me sleeping on my husband’s side of the bed. Left is the new right. Great – as long as he remembers to get in the new right side. Mostly he has been successful in this regard.
This weekend has involved some considerable progress in the building work at home, which has been encouraging and exhausting all at once. I constantly lose track of which appliances or services I have available, and how much milk there ought to be in the house.