Moving

We’re getting ready to move (next week) into The Big House (along with Naughty Nephews and their parents).

Half the belongings in our flat, the sturdy square edged half, is packed into cardboard boxes, the other half taunts us with its gamut of weird knobbly unwrappable shapes and thin fragile edges.

I’m doing most of the packing because C is working away on making the Big House habitable. My process is to pack a box, have a cup of tea, pack another box, eat five loaves and half an oxen and on it goes.

The other movements in our life are much smaller, but so much more impressive.

We’re at seventeen weeks now (!) and along with those tooth buds and the pissing-into-your-own-amniotic fluid-and-then-drinking-it-tendencies, apparently, if the Tiny Dancing Baby is a girl she’s growing eggs.

Eggs! I squealed at C. Teeny tiny weeny little eggs in her teeny tiny ovaries! How bizarre is that? And one day, one of those teeny tiny eggs might be half of a new teeny tiny baby. Only teenier! And tinier!

And then I stopped because all that high pitched squealing was hurting my throat and aggravating my mucous membranes.

Surely one of those most attractive and endearing Facet Of Pregnancy must be the cascading waterfall of slime that forms within one’s body.

One moment I could throw out my arms and inhale lustily the warm Sydney morning through my nostrils, the next I was drowning in snot.

Snotty Nose rapidly became Evil Mucous Dripping Down The Back Of The Throat. This led to much hacking. Quite quickly I managed to give myself a throat infection and a nasty chesty cough. This in turn led to much lying down and feeling sorry for myself.

About three days ago while lying on the couch I started feeling other sorts of movement.

Of the feathery flicking type.
As if a tiny dancing baby had decided it was time to give the uterus a bit of a clean with an equally tiny feather duster.

When I put C’s hand on my abdomen he could feel them too. For a moment we sat like that. Then he grinned at me and said: this is so exciting, I have to ring my mum.

And as he spoke to his mother I lay beside him with my hands down my pants feeling the sweet flick and flutter of someone with their very own tooth buds.


It was a very fine moment.