Week 32, Day 4 (Open mouth, change feet..)

First up, a correction. No. # 1 Grandma informs me that I was NOT six months old in that photo (see preceeding post), I was in fact three months old! When I gaped at her in disbelief, she informed me that I was sitting upright at two and a half months of age, and if I looked at the back of the original photo I'd see the notation of my age at time of taking.

Whoa nelly... if this baby takes after his mother, I'm in deep do-do. I was counting on him being fairly immobile for a wee bit, to let me get my feet underneath me before he found his! Given how energetic he is (and apparently I was just as bad), I'd say he's putting the down time to good use so he can hit the ground running.

Mum also asked me yesterday about a baby shower; were any of my friends organising one? Sadly, no. I think this is what happens when you've worked for many years to cultivate an air of fear and loathing of frou-frou. Karma, I guess. But then, who says, where is it written that baby showers have to be banners, balloons, cucumber sandwiches and insipid party games?

Huh?

A fabulous baby shower would be one where the nearest and dearest to the impending mummy would gather around and roast her, toast her, and generally get her sozzled out of her mind on good plonk and exquisite canapes, then bring on the male strippers. (Note the use of plural expectations!)

Of course a lap dance might be a bit out of the question, considering I have no lap at present.

And how do you tip strippers now that there are no $1 and $2 notes in circulation? Oh come on, there's no way this tight bitch is going to fork out a fiver for some gorgeous, oiled, nearly naked bronzed hairless god to let me twang his g-string!

Yeah.. I'm just a bit out of date, huh :-) I think it's been about 18 years since I went on a girl's night out that involved stuffing my pockets with small notes and packing my chapstick instead of a lipstick.

Anyhoo (shakes self.. reminds self that she won't be pregnant forever!), that's not the only goof I made this week. Two gaffes in one week, I must be slipping. I'm normally good for at least four.

Last week at antenatal (that's starting to sound like "And one time? At band camp ...?) we sat and were duly told the benefits of breastfeeding (no surprises there). Apparently the inference we were supposed to take home is if you want a smart, healthy, living baby you breastfeed, and if you want a sickly, stupid and probably dead baby then you bottle feed.

No pressure, but.

It was getting SO obvious that I began to bite down on my inner lip to hide my smirk, because I'm willing to bet that at least 50% of the people in the room were bottle fed. Well, I know two were for starters - Wayne (who was a premmie) and me! Were we sickly, stupid and lucky to be alive?

Just then Boy Racer aired my thought for me by loudly interrupting with "Well no wonder I'm stupid, I was bottle fed!"

"You took the words right out of my mouth!" I exclaimed with a grin, then as every pair of eyes in the room swiveled at me in amazement, I realised how that came across. (and more than one pair were crinkled with barely suppressed laughter)

Oh shit.. why is it when you're trying to repair verbal damage you're never as eloquent as when you first speak?

Somewhere in my stutters, half sentences and mumbled embarrassment I managed to convey that I was a complete idiot, NOT the boy racer, (more grins from the room - some agreeing, some not), and oh shit I think I'll shut up and someone shoot me already.

Wayne thought it was too funny for words, but then he's had to learn to enjoy my gaffes in order to survive them ;-)

Let's see how I fare tonight...