Karen is having a hard time dealing with the various symptoms of pregnancy. She’s still suffering from morning sickness, and has decided that this means that it will continue for the next six months. I can understand why this worries her – it can’t be very pleasant. However, at least now we’ve told everyone, there’s no need to tiptoe around – if she needs to run off to barf, no-one’s going to hold it against her.
She’s enjoying shopping for maternity clothes and other such nesting activities. If we owned our own palace, I’m sure that I’d be decorating the nursery right about now, but as we are renting a house I find myself twiddling my thumbs trying to think of something productive to do. I draw a blank, and do the washing up instead, irrespective of how small the pile of dirties is.
She’s also a bit hormonal at times, which can be hard work, as I’m never quite sure what her mood is going to do next. It keeps me on my toes, but I can take it.
Telling the families at Christmas was about as much fun as could be expected. We had it all planned out, with champagne corks popping and hurrahs, but inevitably circumstances would leap up and everything would go topsy turvy. I dunno, I’m not really the centre-of-attention sort – I don’t like being asked all sorts of dumb questions. And the inevitable moment where everyone has said “Congratulations” but can’t think of what to say next… gah. Thank God it’s over.
I’ve tried talking to the bump, but I can’t really think of what to say. I can imagine the little foetus in there, tapping its toe, grumbling “Come on, quit it with all the baby talk. Say something worthwhile, or shut the fuck up.” Perhaps I should grab a good book and read it stories.