So the baby has flipped (finally!) and the faux-contractions have started happening fairly frequently. The baby room is almost ready – still have to put the curtains up, but that should only take a few minutes.
We have nappies, bottles, wraps, blankets, stretch-n-grows, singlets, shirts, socks, bottles, nipple guards, toys, change mats, a bassinet, a bath, a pram, a cot, a playmat. Basically everything on the Baby City “You must buy everything on this list or you’re a terribly bad parent, and if you don’t buy the most expensive item in each category then you’re only marginally better than a child-molesting Catholic priest” brochure.
But it still doesn’t seem real.
Ollie’s mum-to-be has even started the nesting thing. Not sure where it came from, but all of a sudden she’s sorting this and tidying that. “Are 6 pairs of socks in the baby’s hospital bag enough?”. “Do we need to take baby powder or do they have that at the hospital?”
I presume it’s to do with her hormonal gears engaging and cogs spinning. It’s almost like she’s expecting the baby to come charging into the house like the Fab 5 from Queer Eye, throw open the closet door and scream “oh no darling, this will not do!”
I suppose it doesn’t help much that I’m more of a “Chill Out Eye for the OCD Guy”. So what if there’s a partially assembled radio control plane in the cot? The little guys gotta learn about servo torque at some stage doesn’t he? I mean how’s he going to know when to use a GWS Pico, and which application requires a metal-geared HS81?
So while she’s busy categorising baby socks by size and colour, I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that this little beastie is going to come crashing in on the dinner party, spew on the cheese platter, and steal the limelight with unintelligible but somehow strangely compelling banter.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m super keen about the whole shebang and totally can’t wait to get my hands on the monster, but just have zero idea what to expect. It seems in her case that some ancient instinctual machinery is coming into play. Sure, she swears that she has no idea either, while unfolding the pram with her big toe, making up the bassinet with one hand and flicking through the ‘Nappies Direct’ catalogue with the other. Sure girl.