D Day

My due date has come and gone, and I'm still pregnant. Tiny had a particularly rambunctious day yesterday, finding new crevasses of my belly to kick, his foot almost seeming to come out completely at one stage. I've been feeling pretty good the last few days, getting lots of stuff done that doesn't necessarily need to be done (organising my stacks of photos, culling the book shelves again) but it feels good to tick these things off a list. So yesterday I felt able to get the bus to town and catch up with pals Jodi and Tony visiting from Melbourne, Claire S who is back from the UK and later in the day went up into the town belt on Mt Vic and posed for my last series of belly pics. From almost day one, Bramwell has taken pics of the belly as it has progressed over the months and I'm so glad she's been doing it - she's an awesome photographer. We avoided the static shot with the same background to take pics of the woman and belly in action growing over the months - hanging out the washing, playing with Charlie, blotting out the sun. They've always been on a Saturday morning or just pinged off before a mountain bike ride or something, totally unprepared for. But last night, as the sun was heading for the Kaikouras, I got a bit dressed up in a red strapless top and lippy and posed like a maternity wear model amongst the trees. Bramwell hasn't shown me any of the pics so far, so I'm looking forward to seeing them in a series and reliving all the various stages of being pregnant. I'm getting quite nostalgic at the moment for being pregnant, it's such a topsy-turvy time and has changed my life so radically from anything that's ever happened before, so it feels only natural that as it comes to an end I should look back over it with rather a rosy glow.

And while I'm in a reflective mood, thank you all who have texted, called, written, and commented over the past few weeks and especially the last few days. I've been wished good luck so many times I really do feel I have it on my side right now. I can still only imagine what being a parent is going to be like, even though tomorrow I could be one.

Past Lives :: The Tokoroa Years

Although I wasn't born there and I spent my first year of life in Greymouth and a bit in Christchurch, I consider myself to have 'grown up' in Tokoroa. For those not aquainted with the town, it's one of those towns where you may stop for a burger or a pie or just hurry on through at high speed plonked on a stretch of State Highway one between Taupo and Hamilton. My first memories are of growing up in a school rental house with a huge backyard that went on forever, hanging out with my best pal Stephanie Smith who lived over the back from us, and of riding my bike and skating and generally being allowed to run riot over our neighbourhood. It was awesome. Those were the days when you stayed out till it got dark in the summer, when you walked or rode your bike everywhere, when the summers were so hot tar got stuck to your feet and winter meant frosts that turned the playgrounds and rugby fields to icy goodness that you slid on and ripped holes in your cords that your mum patched up with funky fabrics. Tokoroa these days has a bit of a bad reputation - thanks to cutbacks at Kinleith Mill where most people worked, it's a town on the decline and has been since before I left there when I was 18. A lot of shops are empty, houses are run down and it has a general aura of being abandoned. When I lived there I knew every street, knew where most people lived, knew most of the kids at school, and if someone didn't know you, you just said who your parents were. It was a three degrees of seperation kind of place. Some awesome people still live there - my good pal Tina and her family, various teachers who worked with my parents over the years are still there. And Mr and Mrs August who lived across the road are still there too, bless 'em.

Two little maids from school, Monique and I with our army canvas school bags that everyone had, and in my hand I have a Bangles single. On vinyl.

It's also where I met Monique - my best pal. We met in maths or science or something in fifth form, and been pals ever since. She's Tiny's godmother and has been a huge influence in my life. We've kind of followed each other around a bit during our friendship; she followed me to Christchurch, I followed her to the UK. Though she's a dirty pinko do-gooding vegetarian who can't eat wheat, I hold her advice and opinions in the highest esteem and admire the way she can pull off wearing a way-too-small for her t-shirt she's just bought at the Sallys.

During the Tokoroa years, I had a number of crappy jobs. My first job ever was picking gooseberries and blueberries at Loft's farm not far out of town. I was 13, I was growing my hair long for the first time ever, and made the mistake of parting it in the middle with pig tails. My head was singed one day and huge lumps of peeling scalp came off a few days later. Not pretty. My next bad job was delivering the New Zealand Herald. Six days a week for three years I got up at 5.30am, pedalled downtown hoping the bungy cords holding the yellow PVC paper carrier onto my bike wouldn't come off and smack me in the ass, and delivered papers to the good folks of Papanui Street. Some mornings were glorious - just me, the papers, amazing sunrises and birdsong. Others were torturous - rain, crazed dogs, the bungys coming off, general unpleasantness. One nice thing about it was sometimes finding a chocolate bar from the old lady who wanted her paper delivered right to her door.

Could this be where my thing for red cardigans started?

The last job I had in Tok was the least horrible - I was a check-out chick at the local New World. There were loads of other girls from school there as well as Lisa R - who when I come to think of it was responsible for me getting the jobs fruit picking and paper delivering - and who is still a mate even though I missed her wedding because I got the dates wrong, and despite standing at the end of a check-out for hours with nothing but Christmas music on repeat to listen to, it was a blast.

I left Tokoroa in 1991 for Canterbury University, which I had dreamt about for ages. Christchurch just seemed to me to be new and exciting compared to going to Waikato or Auckland which were closer to home. And it was where my older more glamourous sister Ange lived. Until I got there.

Phwoar!

Four days to go ... yes, yes, I know only four per cent of babies are born on their due date (which is this Friday, bring it on) but I can hope can't I? Every night I go to bed wondering if that slightly unusual pokey feeling or wind-like sensation is a sign of imminent labour. But alas, nothing yet. Instead I just keep growing and growing and growing.

Past Lives :: Or What I Did With Myself Before Blogging and Babies Came Along

The Postie and I have been putting together a book for Tiny kind of chronicling what awesome individuals we are so when he's 16 and he hates us and thinks we're old fuddy duddys we can show him how cool we really are.

I've been thinking a bit as I lie on the couch trying to figure out what I'm craving, about my past lives, and who I've been and things I've done before now. In my time, I've been a check-out chick, a salesperson in a hardware store, picked blueberries in New Zealand and grapes in France, worked in the film and TV industry back in the 1990s before Wellywood was born, been a published poet, answered phones at more government departments than I care to remember, and more recently become a journalist. I came to travelling late (I was 25 before I ventured outside our shores) but have racked up a few overseas adventures, and now I'm going to be someone's mother. I've had more re-inventions than Madonna. Almost.

So I'm attempting a new series, if you like. Past lives. Stay tuned.

The plaid shirt years - clapper loader on William Shatner's Twist in the Tale 1997-8

Lethargy

Tiny is sucking the life out of me, putting the final (hopefully) touches to his body before he's born. It's a week until D-Day and I seem to have ballooned even more than I thought possible over the last week, he's like a basketball stuck up my top. I've had to lean over quite far to see my feet in the above picture. Today I don't even have the energy to drag myself through the process of getting dressed - it's much easier to sit here and type haphazardly into my laptop with frequent breaks. I'm sure by the time I actually do get dressed, it will be bed time. The lethargy is not helped by how hot it is, or at least, how hot I am. I can feel warmth coming off my body like a heater. At least it's not just me. Even the cat can't be bothered looking up.

My year of feet

The mighty fabulous Jo Hubris checks in at the start of each year by asking herself the same 40 questions. What a great idea, I thought, except in answering her 40 questions I mainly came up with the same 40 answers. So I’m reducing her extensive list to 20 questions, and this is what I came up with …

What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before? Got knocked up. Spent a day as a patient in hospital. Went to Australia. Cried at a TV commercial. Had a facial. Phoned up Michael Palin at home while he was eating breakfast. Was featured in a National Radio documentary on climate change digging a hole and panting. Stayed up 25.5 hours without drugs.

Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don’t do resolutions, I set goals. I achieved some of them – did the Oxfam 100km walk for example. I also followed my friend Susie’s advice to tie a ribbon to a tree and say ‘welcome love’, which seems to have resulted in Tiny.

Did anyone close to you die? No, but two of my parents’ cats went missing when they moved to Christchurch, presumed dead. We miss you Suzie and Oliver.

What countries did you visit? I went to Australia for the first time and fell in love with lorikeets.

What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007? A Qantas Media Award. This is unlikely though, so I guess I’ll just have to make do with my son being outside my body.

What date from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? 27 May. The day we found out about Tiny. I bought a pie and a pregnancy test at the supermarket that morning, went to the costume cave and got an outfit for a fancy dress party on that night, ate the pie, did the test, and the next six hours were a blur. I remember sitting in Monique’s flat watching the tui flutter from tree to tree and thinking ‘I can do this’. Needless to say, I didn’t make it to the party.

What was your biggest achievement of the year? Walking 100km for charity – the Oxfam Trailwalker, and raising nearly $5000 with my team in the process.

What was your biggest failure? Not doing the Trailwalker in under 24 hours, but really, completing the thing without needing to be booked into a mental institution is not to be sniffed at. I also did a pretty bad job of keeping away from the snack drawer at work.

Did you suffer illness or injury? I lost some toenails on the 100km walk and had some blisters in unusual places, but compared to the man in the first aid station who hadn’t changed his socks for 80-something kms, I was in relatively good shape.
I also had a rough few months with morning sickness, which let me tell you, has not much to do with the morning. The worst incidence of it was about 11.30pm at the after hours medical centre, where the nurse continued to ask me my symptoms while I vomited into a rubbish bin. Not my most glamorous hour.

Post 100km-walk feet - bruised and blistered, but with toenails intact. They later came off in spectacular, not-for-blog fashion

What was the best thing you bought? My stretchy waistband jeans that enabled me to keep looking like a slim hipped rock star even though my belly looked like I’d had too many pancakes.

Whose behaviour merited celebration? The Postie – for being so calm, reliable and awesome in the face of such a life-altering curve ball. He also continued unflinchingly in the 100km walk despite having severe blisters from about the 10km mark.

Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed? I saw a movie called Jesus Camp a week ago. It made me despair for the human race. The documentary is about evangelical ‘Christians’ who use the word enemy far too often and believe it's ok to brainwash children because that's what them Muslims do. They were so sure they were right about everything, and that kind of closed-mindedness gives me the willies.

Where did most of your money go? Tiny’s savings account, walking shoes and a raincoat.

What did you get really, really, really excited about? The 20 week scan, where we found out Tiny is a tiny boy. Feeling his first kicks, which was like having a lava lamp in your belly, all soft and floaty-like. My pal Janna's wedding was pretty exciting, and seeing old faces at the Tokoroa High School reunion also rocked.

What song will always remind you of 2007? Into My Arms by Nick Cave. It made me cry on the bus to work one morning.

What do you wish you'd done more of? Jumped up and down, done cartwheels, ridden my bike. I wish I’d walked and tramped and done more physically active stuff more while I was able. Now it’s a major achievement to make it down to the shop and back without an ambulance.

What do you wish you'd done less of? Vomitting.

Did you fall in love in 2007? Um, yes. With two boys at once. And with fizz-it lollies and lorikeets.

What did you want and get? A good payrise with accompanying rave reviews from my bosses. A pretty choice partner. Phoenix Foundation’s Happy Ending for Chrimbo.

What did you want and not get? An Asia New Zealand scholarship to do stories in India and China. Getting pregnant kind of put paid to those aims. I’m now looking at applying in 2010.

So where the bloody hell are you?

37 and a bit weeks and feeling bigger than Jesus

Here I am, on a Monday afternoon while other people are at work, sitting at my dining room table looking out at the cul-de-sac. It's raining and blowing a gale, shaking the perfect-shade-0f-red pohutukawa across the road and rattling our windows. The postie is bored and lethargic (as am I) having fallen asleep on the couch and now reading in bed. This is what it's like waiting for a baby to be born. I'm 37 and a bit weeks, so still have just over two weeks till my due date. However, I am an impatient woman and just want my little boy now. The tiny clothes are clean and folded in his drawers, the appropriate nappies have been invested in and are ready to go, the mobile has been put up over the cot. The cat has been given firm instructions never to enter the room, and P has put up a series of paintings he's done that read "be happy without reason". All the hand-me-downs and new clothes have been put into boxes, labelled and stored in his wardrobe, and I've even sterilised the breast pump and bottles ready to go. My suitcase has been packed for ages now.

However, it seems Tiny wants to stay the full 40 weeks in his luxury accommodation, so we'll just have to wait a little longer. I was born three weeks after I was due - I can't imagine how my mother didn't go insane.

Baby's room when we moved into our flat four months ago. Otherwise known as the room with the stuff that we closed the door on

Baby's room today - ready for liftoff - the cot is unmade to keep the cat off it, in case you are wondering. When the sun comes in in the afternoon, P can be found reading in the rocking chair.