I have reached the stage of pregnancy that I like to call 'being done with pregnancy.'
I've been feeling this way for a couple of weeks now, and when Diana caught a glimpse of me post-shower this weekend, pointed at me and said: 'Big butt! Big nip!' and started giggling, I decided I really need to give birth ASAP.
That, and I'm impressed that D's speech has advanced to the point where she's learned how to use adjectives correctly.
None of this would be much of an issue if I was actually close - say a couple of weeks? - to being 'done' with pregnancy. But I still have two months left.
Part of the reason I've mentally checked out of this pregnancy is because my bump is just so comically big. It's pretty high up and more or less looks like those ridiculous prosthetic bumps that feature in Hollywood films (if only the super-toned, 8-stone physique of the starlet wearing the fake bump happened, too).
People - for weeks now - keep on assuming that I'm ready to give birth. In New York last month, women would approach me and ask, 'Any day now?,' which was awkward in itself, but made worse when I had to force a giggle and say, 'I have three months left. I just happen to be the size of a tank.'
Just as a side note, I really don't understand why strangers take it upon themselves to comment on other people's pregnancies unprompted. At best, it's an awkward interruption; at worst, it can be offensive. And when someone is carrying around 30 extra pounds, suffers from perpetual exhaustion and the skin issues and hormonal extremes of a 13-year-old boy, hearing how big they are is not top of their list of creature comforts.
As if pregnancy isn't embarrassing enough - at times - on its own without the intervention of other people.
In the past few weeks, I've become the complete cliché of the pregnant klutz, dropping and breaking things, tripping over myself and smacking my body into any and every surface.
I managed to lose my maternity bathing suit by dropping it onto the street when it was soaking wet (and when I retraced my steps 15 minutes later, it had disappeared, which I find completely horrifying).
The most humiliating pregnancy-related moment that I recently suffered took place in a Sephora make-up store in New York where I was browsing the new Nars Andy Warhol collection and knocked over a canister full of lip glosses. I picked it up and put it back, but after a few minutes, I was approached by a worried-looking salesgirl who asked me where the lid was - it wasn't on the floor with the rest of the set, so I assumed it was a display sample and was missing the lid - and told me it was a limited-edition set and couldn't be sold without the special lid.
I went back to help her look for the lid, got down on the ground to look, found nothing, apologised profusely and continued browsing, while she frantically scoured the store for the lid.
Twenty minutes later, as I moved my handbag to pay for the items I had decided to purchase (the lip gloss set wasn't among them), the errant lid - which had somehow wedged itself into hiding in a nook in my bump - fell with a thunk to the floor.
Cue relieved salesgirl and humiliated pregnant woman. I'd been walking around with a piece of metal piercing my belly and hadn't even realised anything was amiss. Also, the lid had stayed ensconced in my bump even when I was on hands on knees clearing things up off the floor. Who knew the late months of pregnancy were so conducive to shop-lifting?
Being so big does have other advantages, namely that Diana is really starting to embrace the idea of her baby sister and has been planting sweet kisses on my ever-growing tummy on a regular basis and saying: 'Baby sissa, baby sissa, Mummy baby!'
Which is super cute... until she lifts up her own top, points at her tum and shrieks: 'D baby!'