"You were born by now," my mother randomly tags onto the end of tonight's checking-in phone call, adding to my already recent fears. What if my baby decided to arrive now; half cooked, tiny and in need of specialist care? I wouldn't know what to do. Plus in no uncertain terms, I just ain't ready.
I've concluded that being three months premature 30 years ago was most likely a far more dangerous and scary prospect. Advances in medical procedures means they can save premature babies younger than ever before.
Now that I'm pregnant, I do understand more about what my parents may have gone through. I was born by emergency c-section. I was a green hue, the size of my dad's palm and weighed 'less than a bag of sugar'. I was then incubated in a dark box. Can you imagine having to go through that experience?
I very much doubt I'd cope with a premature baby. I'm too easily panicked when it comes to medical things and my hormonal dreams are becoming more irrational once again.
I'm blaming the trimester transition; it's the crossover weeks when my dreams go nuts. I thought I'd left all that PMT-style stuff behind for a while. I was wrong.
My mother, now, merely laughs off the fact that she was too scared to pick me up or touch me, too tired to feed me when the nurses tried to 'bully' her.
I think her anecdotes are becoming more whimsical as approach the end of my gestation. I assume she, very kindly, doesn't want to instill even more fear in me...