You

Your story began on a Thursday afternoon, in a delivery room at a hospital in West Wales. One minute, it was just your mum and dad and a room full of doctors and in the next, your tiny little cat-like cry broke the tension and suddenly, you were part of the world. Outside, it was freezing cold and unseasonably sunny for a November day.

But thats not quite right. Your story really begain in a bathroom at your mothers apartment, somewhere in a a beachside suburb of Melbourne. She looked in to your fathers startled face and blurted "I think i am actually pregnant." While your dad read the instructions on the box, your mum stood in the hallway blinking. Then they lay in bed and she asked if he was going to leave her to be a single mum and he replied "why would i leave you when you are about to give me everthing I ever wanted?"
Maybe that's where your story began. The next day they went to your great grandmothers funeral and decided that if you were a girl, they would give you her name.

But again, That's not really where your story started. Your story started at a bar on the night that your dad came back from a holiday in Thailand. He was meant to go from Melbourne to Thailand and back to Wales but got sidetracked somewhere and ended up on a plane back to Melbourne to propose to your mother with her favourite mascara and a promise to make is all work.

It started when they met on the beach and she screamed at him for no reason and he asked her if she'd ever live in another country.
It started when he left his wife and she left her husband and they decided to try for a better life, in the years before they found one another.
It started when she was told by a psychic that she'd never have children and she thought she knew better.
It started on his 28th birthday when he thought "mmmm, i wouldn't mind having kids."

Your story, our story, the story of how the two of us met in that hospital room in West Wales on a chilly November afternoon started 30 years ago. Your great grandmother, the one whose name you now share was giving your grandfather a telling off in the kitchen.
"If she wants another baby, you give her another baby." And your Grandfather, my father took her advice and had his third daughter, me.
That's where your story really began.

bye bye baby (bump)

It's a cruel design flaw that the more pregnant a person gets, the less she is able to sleep. Just when she probably needs it the most, when opportunities for sleep ins are fading fast, when thoughts of screaming babies are still a theory, Mr Sandmand goes MIA. Thanks God, maybe you shouldn't have had Sunday off.

Things I am most looking forward to about not being pregnant anymore:
Meeting the baby (obviously)
Not craving ice and soap anymore
Being able to roll over in one fluid movement and not 17 micro movements.
Beer, wine, Pimms, Vodka (although breastfeeding is going to eff with that one for a little while.)
Running
Walking
Swimming laps.
Knowing my dress size again.
Buying dresses.
Having a conversation that doesn't involve pregnancy.
Oh! The pain in my ribs going away!!
No more midwives!
No more peeing in a bottle once a week!
Rolling down a hill!
Sleeping on my stomach!
Running up the stairs!
Falling down the stairs if I want!
Zipping up my jacket.
Driving without grunting as I try and twist to reverse.
Normal, un-choreographed sex.
Sleep.
Being able to paint my toe nails.
Being able to see the tops of my thigh
Sleeping on my back.
Getting up from the couch really quickly.
Running across the road.
ohhh so many things.

Two more days.....

Small town.

Let's face it, there are many strange things about going from living in the big smoke to living in the relatively tiny smoke. For example, there is a lot more smoke here because people have open fires. And the farmers usually have a pipe hanging out of their mouths. he he ha ha.

Something that struck me immediately and continues to knit my eye brows with the oddness of it, is the absence of choice. If you feel like going out for dinner, you can go to the Chinese or the Indian. If you want to talk about books you join the book club. The village has the pub and the school. It seems "a" has been deleted from the vocabulary of these country folk.

This also means that there is one supermarket. One village hairdresser (that also doubles as the village healer-seven pounds got me a hair cut and some relief from my rib pain) one doctor, one car park, one main road and about ten million sheep. There's no need for google or recommendations from friends, no websites or word of mouth, it's not about finding a reliable solicitor. You just go to the solicitor. And if you don't, then you do whatever needs to be done, yourself.

So, by this logic, I am the pregnant Australian lady that came to Wales to marry the youngest son of the family. People greet me by name even though i don't know who they are. There is no anonymity here. I found this out when i went to the supermarket in pyjama pants at 8pm on a Monday night to buy chocolate. I saw the hairdresser, the man with the fractured neck and a distant relative of Welsh's whom was interviewed in the local paper recently after being banned from all 14 pubs in the district. For life. He's the trouble maker. (I actually think he is quite endearing.) You can't really get away with anything here.

This lack of choice certainly simplifies things. But also drives me crazy. I like the distraction of research. I like shopping for the sake of discovering something new and unusual. I enjoy weighing up the pros and cons of bakeries. I like making choices. I like sitting in a cafe and going through a list of ten types of bread. Here, it's white or brown. I don't think i have said the words "brown bread" since I was a child. Oh what i wouldn't do for some avocado on rye.

I better go. I need to call the Australia embassy so I can get the hell out of here.

18 days.

I am having a baby is 18 days.

Sometimes i watch this program called "I didn't know I was pregnant" because you know, at least I am one step ahead of those people. Also, how do you not know that there is a squirming little baby in your abdomen? Bizarre. And how do you give birth in a toilet without called triple zero? Surely you can identify that this is not a normal amount of pain.

So we went to the hospital on Thursday for our final appointment, which in itself, is mega exciting. I have spent more time in that hospital waiting room than anywhere else in Wales. The doc jabbed me a bit, measured my guts and then gave me an ultrasound. She was just laying down in there like she had nowhere to be. She gave us a bit of a wriggle so we could go "awwww...so cute" and then just went back to resting.

So 18 days to go, unless she comes before. Welsh is on a two beer limit and stares at me every time I make a noise, incase he misses the signs that I'm in labour. I've been asking every woman I know what a contraction really feels like. We woke up this morning and I counted how many jump suit things we have and Welsh climbed up a ladder to paint a window for some strange reason. We are so ready to have this baby and I fear that if she wasn't coming in a couple of weeks, we would probably lose our minds.

Last night was Guy Fawkes night and we went to a neighbouring town to watch the fireworks and bon fire. It was fr-fr-fr-freezing cold but lots of fun. That was our attempt to enjoy life before we are parents....we stayed up late and finished sentences and stuff like that.

That's all for now.

More about exercise.

It's a strange thing when I feel impulses to go for a run but my body is just not willing.

At 20 weeks pregnant I walked 12k's and had a bit of a sore lower back but otherwise was okay. These days, at 36ish weeks, I can walk 3k's but it takes AGES and my fat little feet are all squishy in my runners.
I've also all but given up on yoga as my balance is a bit weird and I do about 7 minutes before having to take a break. I'm thirsty ALL the time and i need to wee ALL the time so that makes exercise difficult too.

If i can only handle 7 minutes of yoga, how am I going to not fall asleep during labour?