around properly, and has started making her presence felt in no uncertain terms.
…her .
I just described my baby as a her .
What an exquisitely strange and wonderful feeling. Typing that three letter word has cemented my unborn daughter’s existence once and for all in my head. She’s no longer a collection of cells, or a foetus to be referred to as ‘it’. She’s a person now. A ‘her’.
My baby Bulimia is a real person!
…ahem.
The first time the baby kicked Laura was while we were watching The Walking Dead.
It seems my daughter is as big a fan of zombies as I am.
It was in a particularly tense moment of the episode, so you can imagine my reaction when Laura shouts ‘ Fuck me! ’ and grabs the swell of her belly.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I wail, sending the contents of my wine glass on a crash course with the already semen stained couch. ‘What?! What’s the matter?!’
‘The baby!’ Laura squeals. ‘I felt it kick!’ Her eyes go wide. ‘There it goes again!’ Her face contorts. ‘Oww! You little sod, give it a rest!’
‘That’s fantastic!’ I crow.
I’d read that some babies start kicking from pretty early in the pregnancy, and we’re a few months into ours by now, so I was starting to get worried that Laura might be carrying a right lazy bastard. This wasn’t a good sign for my far reaching plans for the front garden.
All is well though it appears, and the baby is making up for lost time.
Laura makes a face again. ‘Fantastic for you, pal. You’re not the one who’s got somebody practising kung fu in your uterus.’
That was over two weeks ago now and the baby has fallen into the habit of smacking her mother around like a nightclub bouncer every evening - and sometimes through a large portion of the night as well.
Thankfully for Laura, she’s a deep sleeper. Even baby Newman’s high kicking exploits can’t keep her awake.
The same can’t be said for her father, who has always been a light sleeper.
While Laura is asleep, any sudden movement the baby makes translates its way into my wife’s sleeping form. When the baby jerks about, so does Laura - sometimes violently so.
I’ve been slapped awake on more than one occasion recently. Similarly, my testicles have made friends with Laura’s knee three times, and my shoulder blades now know what it’s like to have a pointy female elbow smacked into them at three in the morning.
I’ve taken to sleeping on the couch when these episodes occur.
It’s either that, or have everyone think I’m suffering severe spousal abuse.
I’m going to curl up on the couch now and try to get some sleep.
I don’t know whether I’ll be successful, but at least I can be one hundred percent sure I won’t wake up with a bruised scrotum.
Laura’s Diary
Saturday, August 17th
Dear Mum,
I still have the fashion sense of a demented chimpanzee. Only now I’m a fat demented chimpanzee.
The girls suggested we all go on a night out, which is great, only now I have to come up with something to wear that will accommodate the rapidly increasing size of my belly.
I’m starting to resemble the world’s skinniest Buddha.
Until now I would have happily described my belly as being pot-like. Now it’s more like a tureen – and it’s not going to get smaller any time soon.
Nothing I have in my wardrobe fits anymore.
Useless are my tight little black dresses.
I tried to squeeze one over the baby to see if I could get away with it, but just ended up looking like a black snake that had swallowed a football.
Jeans are right out for obvious reasons - and as a duvet cover won’t cut much of a glamorous figure on the dance floor, I’m going to have to bite the bullet and wear maternity clothing.
Melina, knowing this day would come, handed over some of her more stylish maternity clothes from when she was pregnant with Hayley. ‘I kept them because Travis and I want another one in the next couple of years. But
…her .
I just described my baby as a her .
What an exquisitely strange and wonderful feeling. Typing that three letter word has cemented my unborn daughter’s existence once and for all in my head. She’s no longer a collection of cells, or a foetus to be referred to as ‘it’. She’s a person now. A ‘her’.
My baby Bulimia is a real person!
…ahem.
The first time the baby kicked Laura was while we were watching The Walking Dead.
It seems my daughter is as big a fan of zombies as I am.
It was in a particularly tense moment of the episode, so you can imagine my reaction when Laura shouts ‘ Fuck me! ’ and grabs the swell of her belly.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I wail, sending the contents of my wine glass on a crash course with the already semen stained couch. ‘What?! What’s the matter?!’
‘The baby!’ Laura squeals. ‘I felt it kick!’ Her eyes go wide. ‘There it goes again!’ Her face contorts. ‘Oww! You little sod, give it a rest!’
‘That’s fantastic!’ I crow.
I’d read that some babies start kicking from pretty early in the pregnancy, and we’re a few months into ours by now, so I was starting to get worried that Laura might be carrying a right lazy bastard. This wasn’t a good sign for my far reaching plans for the front garden.
All is well though it appears, and the baby is making up for lost time.
Laura makes a face again. ‘Fantastic for you, pal. You’re not the one who’s got somebody practising kung fu in your uterus.’
That was over two weeks ago now and the baby has fallen into the habit of smacking her mother around like a nightclub bouncer every evening - and sometimes through a large portion of the night as well.
Thankfully for Laura, she’s a deep sleeper. Even baby Newman’s high kicking exploits can’t keep her awake.
The same can’t be said for her father, who has always been a light sleeper.
While Laura is asleep, any sudden movement the baby makes translates its way into my wife’s sleeping form. When the baby jerks about, so does Laura - sometimes violently so.
I’ve been slapped awake on more than one occasion recently. Similarly, my testicles have made friends with Laura’s knee three times, and my shoulder blades now know what it’s like to have a pointy female elbow smacked into them at three in the morning.
I’ve taken to sleeping on the couch when these episodes occur.
It’s either that, or have everyone think I’m suffering severe spousal abuse.
I’m going to curl up on the couch now and try to get some sleep.
I don’t know whether I’ll be successful, but at least I can be one hundred percent sure I won’t wake up with a bruised scrotum.
Laura’s Diary
Saturday, August 17th
Dear Mum,
I still have the fashion sense of a demented chimpanzee. Only now I’m a fat demented chimpanzee.
The girls suggested we all go on a night out, which is great, only now I have to come up with something to wear that will accommodate the rapidly increasing size of my belly.
I’m starting to resemble the world’s skinniest Buddha.
Until now I would have happily described my belly as being pot-like. Now it’s more like a tureen – and it’s not going to get smaller any time soon.
Nothing I have in my wardrobe fits anymore.
Useless are my tight little black dresses.
I tried to squeeze one over the baby to see if I could get away with it, but just ended up looking like a black snake that had swallowed a football.
Jeans are right out for obvious reasons - and as a duvet cover won’t cut much of a glamorous figure on the dance floor, I’m going to have to bite the bullet and wear maternity clothing.
Melina, knowing this day would come, handed over some of her more stylish maternity clothes from when she was pregnant with Hayley. ‘I kept them because Travis and I want another one in the next couple of years. But
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