Something strange is happening to me. I’m becoming a squirrel. I don’t know if it’s a side effect of pregnancy or the cold of winter, but suddenly I’m filling my cupboards with backup food, duplicates of stuff we already have. I’ve never done this before. I was always very minimalist in my shopping. Sure, we’d always run out of stuff, but the shops weren’t far away, nor was shopping day. But now, we are prepared to survive a hurricane; we could last a nuclear winter. I’ve got backups of backups. It’s such a clear departure in lifelong habit, that it’s surely indicative of something else. So I started looking at what else has changed, and this is what I noticed:
A vine has sprouted on my leg. Many of you would assume I was talking about the large green tattooed vine entwining my right leg. You’d be wrong. My left leg has spontaneously erupted in a vision of purple-blue foliage, some of it three dimensional, and some of it intricate in spidery detail. Any tattoo artist would be challenged to produce such a masterpiece. I’m not saying it’s attractive, even for a varicose vein. Oh contraire, it’s breathtaking in its ugliness; a striking contrast to the beautiful artwork on the other leg. I’m definitely blaming this one on pregnancy. You want a photo? You’re not getting one.
What else is happening? There is a constant churning in my guts – the little one is a circus performer or soccer champ. He/she is likely to get named after a World Cup player, or a brand of washing machine. I’m still convinced this is a boy, but it could well be a girl if you consider the exponential growth of my bum. They say carrying a girl makes your curves curvier, which is definitely happening, despite eating well and exercising everyday. But my dreams tell me it’s a boy, and I’ve always been one to believe my dreams.
Speaking of dreams: they are getting weirder. I was a suicide bomber last night. But it was a love bomb. Horribly destructive of course, and also, I didn’t die. I spent the rest of the dream on the run from the cops; that was the only bit that made sense. I’m not even going to mention the dream where Kevin Rudd got a new haircut and became popular again (a week later he turned into Julia Gillard). All of which leads me to conclude that it’s pregnancy causing these odd changes: I’ll be back to normal in a few months time. I’ll have half-empty cupboards, only one leg decorated, a medium-sized bum and normal-weird dreams. Oh, and a baby called Simpson/Belladonna.