The point of no return

29 May

Today was a pretty good day. I got up early, stared down the almighty cold sore that is threatening to take over my face (that’s one for every trimester! YAY.), bought the last things I needed for my hospital bag (breast pads, maternity pads, overnight pads… I’m more than slightly concerned about the number of pads I’ve been told I’ll need), made a lasagna that only required three trips to the supermarket, had a nap, and finished off another late assignment. I even went to the newsagent in the pouring rain and got paper and ink for The Boy because that’s the kind of loving wife I am. You know, the one that occasionally does that thing that her husband has asked her to do three times already, then expects praise for finally getting around to it.

Anyway, cold sore aside, I was feeling pretty superhuman. That was until I got to the supermarket for the second time and the check-out chic started to look at me like I’d just grown a second head. I figured the cold sore had finally decided to stake its claim on my upper lip by lighting a neon flare or something. Then, as I was crossing the road to go home a lady stopped in her car and asked if I needed a lift. I explained that I was less than 10 metres from my driveway but she didn’t look at all convinced and actually waited in her car to watch me totter down the path. The final straw came when I was at the newsagent picking up The Boy’s supplies. The husband and wife team that run the place were horrified that I wasn’t driving home. The paper was too heavy, they said, was I sure I was going to be alright? Umm… yes?

And that’s when I realised that I have clearly reached that point where I look ridiculously pregnant. Too pregnant to be roaming the streets. Way too pregnant to be shopping and carrying things on my own. This wasn’t helped by the fact that I was wearing The Boy’s rain jacket which makes me look somewhat like a barrel on garden stake legs, nor the fact that my hair was, by this point, well on its way to afro thanks to a full on day of rain.

Needless to say I’ve decided I’m not going anywhere for the rest of the week. Which is perfectly fine because I have nowhere to go, and it’s raining so hard I’m expecting Noah to turn up any second with his Ark. Lucky my bags are packed.


3 Responses to “The point of no return”

  1. anothermaternityblogger May 31, 2011 at 10:52 am #

    Okay, you’ll have to educate the American here. What is a newsagent? I cannot imagine a place that sells paper and ink and is called a newsagent. But for that matter, I don’t even know where I’d buy paper buy paper and ink in the US. We have a few sad stationary stores that have been largely overrun by huge office supply stores. Oh…maybe an office supply store.

    Anyhow, I’ve enjoyed stalking you from afar. Good luck getting ready.

    • Verity May 31, 2011 at 11:25 am #

      Newsagent = local sad stationary store that also sells lotto tickets, magazines, newspapers and gift cards. They’re pretty common here in Aus. Good luck to you too, fingers crossed for you and your little one!

  2. litchick1027 June 3, 2011 at 6:49 am #

    Oh, good grief. I’m so there with you. I’ll be a mere 35 weeks this Saturday, and for some blessed reason, people think it’s hilarious to make comment like, “Ready to pop any day now?” Strangers, many of them.

    Keep the faith.

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