PUBLIC OPINION IN THE THIRD TRIMESTER

The peanut and I have officially entered the third trimester and with it, it seems, comes a torrent of public opinion and helpful hints for labour, parenting, pram purchase and the supremely controversial issue of cloth versus disposable nappies.

Here are some of the best ones I’ve had rained on me thus far;

1.              The greater the age differences between the parents, the greater the chance it will be a boy. (Immediately discredited by my parents, my in-laws and the rest of the world in general).

2.              A mother from the dance academy I teach at (had I started there seven months ago, hers and others offspring would perhaps, have provided the perfect contraception) suggested I start stretching my nether regions now to lessen the pain during labour

3.              Or I could put all my eggs in one basket and follow this theory…eat an egg a day and the baby will slip right out of you

4.              Enroll for childcare now

5.              Wait for the symbolic dream and it will all become clear. (I still don’t know what ‘all’ actually is).

6.              Mothers groups can be very scary

7.              But a good chance to discover the average income of your area, since partners’ salaries appear to be a major topic of conversation

8.              Every man secretly wants a son

9.              Never tell a teacher your name ideas, you can guarantee they’ve taught someone rotten with your favourite name, and

10.          Your appropriate weight gain is a complicated algorithm based on a series of mystery factors, yet it still can’t be determined for me since I didn’t weigh myself pre-conception to begin with.

Prenatal classes start this week for us, but I dare say with these bits of advice there’s really nothing else we need to know. And the peanut and I are trucking…or waddling along just fine. It’s learned this really cool move where it launches off my bladder and body rolls the front of my stomach and I’ve been performing a bit of late, and can’t work out if all the movement during my singing is because it likes the sound or is trying to tell me to shut the hell up. Perhaps it’s just the first in a long line of grievances my child will hold against me until it has its own child and just like the song says, the story goes on…