Week 25, Day 6 (Footy fever)

I hate ball sports.

Okay.. hate is a loaded term. How about "take me out and shoot me now" as my general reaction to ball sports?

Of course this means the baby is likely to grow up to want to be an All Black. Yippee. If kidlet does express and interest and aptitude towards such pursuits, we'll be great support parents (but without any chance of turning into ugly sideliners who assault the Ref or yell abuse at the other team). We'll just hope that he outgrows it, one day.

Same as if this is a girl and she comes home with a spotty boyfriend with his jeans hanging just slightly above his knees, and who is into crap (excuse me, rap) music.

Grin and forbear it... Don't make a big deal and hope like hell they get over it.

Heh heh... getting back to the underwear-flashing jean trend of the moment, isn't it pathetic!!! Unlike my "being trendy would kill me" husband, I fully experienced every bit of the 80's and 90's and this meant I was a total fashion victim on occasion, and no doubt caused unexpected hilarity every time I set foot outside the door.

One of the sillier trends I followed was the old 'food dye in the bleached hair' trick. Someone forgot to tell us that when you dance up a sweat, the dye runs down your face and clothes, and you look even sillier than a mascara clown.

Black stockings and white shoes (the Minnie Mouse look that suddenly went OUT the nanosecond someone let us in on the joke), hair frizzed within an inch of our lives, Madonna-lace gloves (hell, I even got married in these the first time around, how damn funny is that!). Then before that was my early teen years in the 70's with the crushed velveteen, tight satin, platform shoes and embroidered flares. Mmmhmmm.. but the music was (mostly) damn good :-)

Getting back again to those crotch-hanger pants, isn't it just too damn funny that no one can walk in these without looking like they've pooped themselves?

Or maybe they have, and this is what they do to make the pants hang "right"???

The things we do...

I had to stuff nearly my whole fist into my mouth the other day when I saw the crotch-hanger look taken to a whole new extreme. It was designed for thin, athletic black males. It was NOT designed to suit short fat white females. Yep. Apparently this girl declined to wear boxers, and instead wore those abstinence-encouraging style of men's underwear that you see disgracing the screen. You know the ones.. with legs, and a flap opening to the front. "Tighty whities" I believe they're called.

Well you could see the top of the fly flap on this girl. MmmmHMMMMMMM!

As she waddled past me (not a fat joke, but the jeans completely thwarted any other method of movement), busily texting into her cellphone and exchanging grumpy conversation with what looked like her mother (you feel for the woman already), I suddenly became utterly absorbed with the contents of the glove box. After they passed I gave in to hysterics and the car shook like a wet dog. And I can laugh, because I'm sure I looked equally ridiculous at various times in my life (luckily as you get older your memory repaints itself, twinking out the most glorious of your moments).

But fashion is going to get it's own joke on me now. We're more or less at the six month mark (near as dammit), and my clothes are starting to get a bit unbecoming. Things still "fit" but no matter how often I tell my front hem to 'sit down in front', it still tents appallingly.

There is nothing for it but to make some maternity tops to camoflauge the belly, and give some excuse to the swaggering roll of my walk.

I spent the recovery of that awful flu either sleeping or sewing baby clothes, and now the time has come to turn the sewing maching towards the needs of the host. Hmmmm... well at least if I sew it it won't be flowery or frou-frou. I dug into my material stores in the shipping container we use for bulk storage, and came up with some crushed velvet, leather and banana lycra. (be afraid...)

The ideas are whirling - I just need some good anti-mumsy patterns to put them to good use.

Getting back to baby ... he's at the awareness stage now where I can play more games with him. His current favourite is for me to run my fingertips lightly over my belly in circular motions, and feel him respond. Sometimes it feels like he's trying to catch my fingers with his hands, sometimes it feels like he's repositioning so that I'm passing over his back. The exterior touch is very soft; you'd wonder that he feels it at all, but the evidence is clear. After a while he drifts off to sleep and I'm expected to keep going (more slowly now) for another five minutes.

If I forget, and stop.... he wakes up and throws a bit of a wobbly. Too cute :-)

I learned a couple of interesting bits of info that may or may not have an impact on this baby and the pregnancy. Wayne was a month early, a pattern which is not uncommon in his mother's side of the family, and Wayne's father weighed in at either 11 or 13 pounds.

Oh ye gods little apples and buckets of jellyfish. You know what that means, don't you.

Tadpole has TWO grandparents who were altogether too close to a stone in weight. Gulp...