Monday, November 06, 2006
The expectation is reaching a peak at Chez Mountjoy. I’d have said “a climax”, but that was eight months ago, and look where it got me. The wonderfully robust Lady M is looking a million bucks in the last four weeks of her pregnancy, and I am spending my days trying to tell her to savour a moment she will never have again (unless that vasectomy goes horribly wrong).
I am almost envious of her. It must be amazing having the sensation of a living being inside you, one you have no control over. Like eating a goldfish, only bigger. MJ:III is a violent bastard of a child already – the kicking and punching are very different to either Heir or Spare’s development (Spare still gets the “I am gestating an Alien” award for the way his elbow stuck out about an inch, and slowly traced an 18” arc right around Lady M’s belly one afternoon late in his time in-utero – truly grotesque).
Lady M cannot get over the fact I find her sexy while she is pregnant. I know she doesn’t feel sexy. I mean, who would? Three months of vomiting. A huge belly. Indigestion. And that’s just me. There is something magical about the way a baby protrudes – it is not “fat”, but it a pointed growth, and the skin is all lovely and taut, so you see the baby moving. She has been a real trooper – Heir and Spare don’t give her a lot of respite, but she is still soldiering on taking them all over the place to swimming, gym and all the little things that mothers do that dads don’t see.
All the plans are now in place; The Countess of Mountjoy arrives in a fortnight for her shift of foetus watch. If we get a call to action before then, there are charts, notes, and tables of things I have to do to keep domestic life ticking over for Heir and Spare while Lady M is ensconced in the Maternity Ward (in reality, it will be one of her tribe that will cover the immediate 24 hours, while I am with Lady M welcoming MJ:III into the world).
And all we can do is wait.