I do not mind the fact that I was just too old to take SATs at school, and too young to take the eleven plus. I do not mind that I had fewer exams at GCSE than today’s year 11s, because I did more coursework. I do not mind the fact that I have never taken a test in Mandarin, tank driving or flying space shuttles.
I have had plenty of tests in any case, and am not at an age where I want to invite more.
Today I discovered that I have an untested pelvis. It hasn’t failed, but it hasn’t passed either. No certificates of proficiency or licence to birth for me! This is not necessarily a big deal, but my new lovely midwife has a hunch that Peanut is lying breech, and having an untested pelvis matters now. I haven’t given birth before, so we don’t know what my pelvis can do. Personally, I have high expectations of my pelvis. However, if
i) it can be proved on a scan that the baby is breech, and
ii) the baby doesn’t move despite three attempts at external cephalic version, I have to have a Caesarean section. I will be 38 weeks pregnant tomorrow. I don’t know when they would do a C-section, and I am happy for them to do it if appropriate, but I’m not looking forward to the ECV. The scan could be good though.
I have been exercising!
Admittedly, I should be doing a lot more exercising which the physio prescribed. But I conquered my fears and attended my first aqua-natal class yesterday. It was brilliant fun.
Most of the pregnant ladies were wearing the same swimming costume as me, and together we looked like a troupe of synchronised hippopotamuses. Think BBC. We were given woggles. It is amazing what you can do with a woggle. We swam with them, tied them in knots, pushed them under the water, hopped and jumped on them. We swam in circles and people in the swimming lanes beyond splashed us with butterfly stroke. Grannies waiting for the aqua-pause group after us watched and giggled. Teenaged life-guards in yellow and red US-fast-food-outlet-style attire tried not to watch, and failed. I can now say that I have ticked another life-ambition on my list, and actually really enjoyed it. The instructor, a midwife-fitness-instructor, said ‘let’s go!’ more often than was truly necessary, and was fanatically happy and enthusiastic. She didn’t think we looked silly at all. She had a Madonna-microphone and a long aerobics track playing with French hip-hop, which didn’t scare away the lane swimmers. We did 43 minutes, at 10p a minute. She claimed that it helped women give birth faster. It is certainly helping me tone up my maternity-leave bank balance.
jam and giraffes 