On the unbearable being.
April 8, 2008 by Solnushka
You have to confess that you find the Star’s complete insistence on you eating healthily somewhat obnoxious.
There is something perverse, in you opinion, about the amount of fruit and veg he thinks is the minimum necessary for your combined survival.
This has been particularly hard to bear given that it is winter. You are heartily sick of oranges, apples and bananas.
All you can say is, he doesn’t get it from your side of the family.
Although you suppose that you should be thankful that it won’t come as a surprise when he hits his teenage years and will only wear organically spun hemp and eat free trade brown rice which has been humanely boiled in ungenetically engineered spring water. And such.
And will run marathons. Since it seems that the Star also objects to your habitual sloth.
There you are, having a much deserved lie in on the first day of the Easter holidays that, owing to the unaccustomed early arrival of the chocolate egg season, aren’t.
And the Star decides that today is the day for giving you a damn good kicking.
Luckily B got to share in this delightful experience for once. Because, and I’m afraid this is going to be something of a cute pregnancy moment so those of a delicate disposition should look away now, as you were spooning at the time, the Star was managing to hammer so energetically on Papa-to-be’s kidneys that Papa woke up.
Indignant.
Which is precisely how you feel when eating the smallest slither of cake makes you feel distinctly ill for the rest of the day.
Hah!
Great title for this piece, Solnushka - I had a good laugh then felt guilty (just like I did for most of my ex-wife’s pregnancy!) Apart from those periodic episodes when they march us out to be slaughtered by the thousands in some war or other, beng a bloke is infinitely easier, I think. If it’s any comfort (well, mental comfort, that is), it is all worth it - I have never regretted for a moment that I passed through this world as a Dad.
Actually, I shouldn’t moan as I’m having a disgustingly easy ride of it so far. Touch wood, spit and whatnot.
In fact, my main pregnancy emotion at the moment is slight boredom. This nine months wait lark is not for those of us who prefer instant gratification.
But to add to the cute factor, B and the Star are now engaging in nightly prodding matches. The Star kicks B, he prods the Star, the Star kicks B and so on.
Apparently.
I am blissfully asleep during all of this. I do worry that only really industrial crying will ever wake me up. Or perhaps ‘worry’ is the wrong word there too. Poor Star.