Apparently Katie Price is pregnant with her fifth child.
Now despite my concern at the alarming prospect that the world may be being single-handedly repopulated by Katie Price (possibly with help from Kerry Katona), there is some grounds for hope here. After all, Katie Price is older than me. And at my age, anyone older than me being pregnant is grounds for a celebration. I am not over the hill. I am not the Oldest Mother-to-be in The World. Maybe I even have time to marry someone and have another child after this one, despite the ever-lengthening odds. There is hope.
In other news, as I may or may not have already said, I am now in the third trimester, which is obviously brilliant. I never thought I would get this far, and Little One is poking me from the inside pretty much constantly, which is also brilliant.
Went to my second hypnobirthing class yesterday, and practised some deepening, relaxation, visualisation and affirmation techniques. I’m not sure how helpful either of the latter two in particular are likely to be, but I have stuck some visualisation pictures up in my bedroom-one of an opening flower that is supposed to represent the cervix and vagina opening to let the baby out; and the other is a drawing of a baby in the womb, in the correct position for birth. Hopefully visualising positive things works better that the many times I have visualised negative things and they have not happened, such as being on a plane plunging into the sea from a great height; or being attacked and robbed of my house keys on the way home when desperate for the toilet (number twos). Not that I’m disappointed that neither of those things have so far come to pass, obviously.
As for the affirmations, all I can say is that I have to believe that chanting “I am ready to birth my baby. My body is designed perfectly to birth my baby in the easiest way possible” is going to be useful when the time comes, otherwise the whole thing is a waste of three hundred quid that could have been spent buying a Michael Kors tote to use as a changing bag.
Just put the TV on. First thing that came on was snooker. Snooker. On a Sunday night. This is an outrage. Why isn’t Downton Abbey on? Who watches snooker anyway?
Anyway, last night I had a wild night of smoking and drinking. It was just like the old days. Well, OK I didn’t really smoke even in the old days, but last night I was sat perilously close to a barbecue, and there was smoke coming off it, which I’m not sure was great for the baby, as I had to occasionally cough and bat the smoke away with an extremely ineffective hand flourish. And also I wasn’t really drinking (unlike the old days), but I did have an enormous wine glass filled with fantastically wine-resembling soft drink Shloer, which I believe prompted more than a few disapproving glances. I can’t wait to drink again. I wish I was drinking now. Although obviously I also wish that drinking was completely safe and had no detrimental effect on babies or their mothers. I suppose that’s a bit like saying I wish no bad stuff ever happened, ever, though.