Temporary Secretary

Part 70

1 November 1981

Late Sunday

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It was a hassle moving around, though funnily enough, you'd been feeling more restless this week.

The baby had dropped yesterday, lowering into your pelvis. It was a lot easier to breathe, but you had to piss even more now, if that was even possible. Multiple times an hour. You couldn't even believe it.

It wasn't much better than before. Your pelvis hurt, and walking felt like you had a bowling ball between your legs. You hated it, very undignified.

It was difficult getting comfortable in bed, laying on your side, shifting. You hated to keep Paul up, even if nothing seemed to bother him as of late, floating on clouds at the thought of his baby coming so very soon.

You'd become familiar with the fun feeling of "Lightning crotch". Little zings of pain that came from there when you moved a certain way, or the baby changed position. It was putting pressure on your nerves, apparently.

Even so, you were compelled with the overwhelming urge to clean, making sure everything in the nursery was organised, that the kitchen was stocked.

Like most nights, you hadn't been able to sleep, despite sleep coming easier the majority of this pregnancy. Every time you got close, you either had a braxton-hicks, or the little one began to squirm and kick out.

Trying not to disturb him, you slipped out of bed (with some difficulty), leaving to check the nursery again.

It had been completed since August, as well as stocked. When you opened the drawers, the newborn clothing was already clean and folded. It was still there. Paul had been keen since the beginning, so there really was nothing more to do.

It felt like a compulsion. You opened all the drawers to check, even though you knew what was inside. You'd done this before.

Even the change table on the dresser's surface was ready, with the packet of wipes and powder. There was a bin to the side of it, even the bin bag put in already.

The cot mattress already had a sheet, even if it would be using the bassinet in your room for the first couple months.

You didn't want to miss even one small thing, and somehow mess everything up, like it was in school. It was the little details that could bring about your downfall on assignments, knocking you down a letter grade.

You'd already gone through the house, covering outlets, making sure cords were out of reach, and there was nothing dangerous in the lower cupboards. Paul had his large pieces of furniture bolted to the wall once he'd moved in, so there was no danger of them falling if climbed on.

You had a bag ready since the thirty-seventh week for the hospital stay. It had a change of clothes, and things the hospital might not provide. Toothbrush, toothpaste, and sanitary napkins.

There was an outfit for the baby too, to bring it home in, a cap, mittens, and socks. Apparently it needed its hands covered, as its nails would be sharp, and it might scratch itself with its jerky movements.

You couldn't imagine how small the fingernails would be, looking at what you'd picked out.

The bag was beside the front door, which it had been for weeks.

You had read up on anything you could, and everything was ready, but you still didn't know what to expect.

One of the shelves on the bookshelf was full already, some of them too advanced for a newborn to read. You'd been keen on that part, you liked picture books a lot. The bookend was the stuffed cat you'd brought from your dad's house.