Pregnant: 37 weeks + 1 day
Status: Fat. I don’t need a table anymore, I can eat of the nice little tableau provided by my belly. On the downside, I also can’t breathe anymore and junior kicking my ribs is a painful experience. My brain has gone in hormone-induced hibernation, so please excuse grammar and spelling mistakes.
If you had told me 8 months ago that I will soon be baking Christmas cookies, buy Christmas decoration and redecorate kitchen and baby’s room I would have laughed at you.
Certainly not me! I have no housewifely attributes to speak of and I am totally undomestic. I cook sometimes but I don’t bake and I certainly do not clean. I don’t care about decorations or interior design. I absolutely hate everything to do with Christmas. I am rubbish at arts and crafts. I am what you would call a modern woman, a city girl, career-focused, driven, intellectual.
So what has happened? It appears I am possessed by an evil spirit called ‘nesting’. It is the evil spirit of homemaking, bread baking and buying kitsch decorations. It is the hormone-induced urge to rearrange cupboards, to buy cook books (and actually use them!), to knit baby blankets and to crochet of baby hats. It is the desire of frequenting cooking classes, of wanting to learn how to sew, of buying baby self-help books, of attending antenatal classes, of arranging baby showers.
Surely this can’t just all be hormonal? What is this malicious hormone called that changes your personality beyond the unrecognizable? Or baby, is it you, wanting to be born into a home smelling of cookies and not of Chinese take-away?
I remember, it seems a long time ago, that I enjoyed theatre, challenging literature, fine dining and dressing up. Will this person ever come back or is it forever buried under layers of chocolate cake, leggings and hand-knitted baby jumpers?