Nine days
There are nine days to baby day.



pathdoc is so over being pregnant. It is a world of pain and sleeplessness and sentimental remarks about how well being pregnant suits her are proving counter-productive. Yes, she's glowing - and she hopes it blinds you to oncoming traffic. I'm ready for her not to be pregnant as well. Obviously I want her to be more comfortable, but I also miss sleeping beside her (she can't lie in bed) and frankly, I'm quite over carrying all this sympathy weight.

We are well prepared, certainly more than the first time round. No matter the gender, size, feeding habits, weather, location, transportation, dress code or colour of the walls, we have made a provision. Whatever goes awry now is gonna be as left-field as a Martian invasion, so nine days from now - watch the skies.

My kids will be seven years apart in age. I'm hoping this means that my son will be so doting on this new sibling that they'll have this excellent relationship in their adult years when pathdoc and I are safely in our respective beds of dirt and mantle jars. I am, however, also fearful that this means they'll never really be all that interested in one another growing up and later struggle to ensure they call one another once a week after we're gone, and only out of some weary sense of duty.

Possibly I should be more concerned with the more immediate issues of having a baby in the house again.

We have no carpets. Nor even the vague flexibility of wooden floors. Every floor in this house, upstairs and down is vitrified porcelain. If this child falls it's going to break like an egg. Therefore, I must retain a vice-like grip on this child at all times, until such time as he or she can withstand any kind of impact. I'm thinking age 22 is a useful benchmark for this.

Accordingly, if I do not post again in the near future you will know why. I am holding a baby. At last.