So, it turns out third trimester gestation and blogging just don't mix. Not in my head at any rate. I will be full-term this weekend, 37 weeks, and frankly quite desperate to evict my little squatter who, according to recent scans, is a monster mutant baby. Yikes. It's giving me nightmares. I'm also concerned that if the baby doesn't come soon I might crack the next time someone helpfully points out how enormous I am and end up giving birth in a prison cell. Seriously, people of the world, stop telling pregnant women they are enormous. It is not, in fact, helpful. They know. It is indeed downright rude and destructive of peace of mind. Neither do I want to hear how my bump is high/low/pointed, nothing, no comments, every time you make a comment I go away and obsess about it in my head. Those couple of lovely people who have told me I look "resplendissante", you may continue to do so, but this is all I want to hear. A few of you have clamoured for photos, and I have reluctantly obliged but please bear in mind the above rant if you feel moved to post a comment.
My other great worry (besides apparently being on course to give birth to King Kong) is that we still haven't found names. Who would have thought it would be so hard?! The minibeasts have come up with a couple of interesting suggestions. When I proposed the name Seth to Matilda she looked at me thoughtfully and said: "Or Death". Hmmmm, yes, or Death. Now Matilda was also quite keen on Star for a while and Fanf and I toyed with the idea of Star as a middle name. This would leave us with Death Star Canteau, which at least has the merit of making me laugh. And today Owen earnestly informed me that he had come up with a name: Potato. Could it be that my last but not least's elder siblings are already trying to find ways to make him/her suffer? Or are they just weird?