Earlier in the week @motherventing blogged about how she can’t take a compliment. It’s taken me this long to remember my answer to the question she posed at the bottom of said blog: “what was the last compliment you received?”
It was this: “you are a patient man”. I rather liked that one, and I think I accepted it by mumbling something unintelligible and largely non-committal, probably including the word “thanks” but not a direct acknowledgement of the compliment. Then I changed the subject. I think it is fairly usual for us to be overcome with Britishness where compliments are concerned. But, despite my none too eloquent acceptance speech (thank goodness I will never have to accept an Oscar) I was actually really rather pleased with the compliment.
Now I’ve gone and ruined it. I don’t feel patient at all. I feel fed up, and bored. I don’t want there to be (probably) another five and a half weeks until the baby arrives. More if he’s late.
Of course I’m not suggesting I’d prefer him to be premature, as wonderful and special as those early arriving babies are. I’d just like to wake tomorrow and find that the world had slipped into a convenient time warp during the night and left me with no more waiting. Maybe it could be something to do with Dr Who. Or a DeLorean. Or Stephen Hawking.
I still enjoy the things I’ve been enjoying throughout the pregnancy; feeling the kicks and punches of the little guy as he enjoys his pre-birth aerobic classes, reading about what developments are going on as the weeks pass, acquiring all the teeny tiny clothes and, most of all, going to bed at night and knowing that the time I wake up will be dictated by my alarm clock and not the cries of a newborn.
I’m still waiting, because I have no choice, but if someone says I’m a patient man before the birth I’ll be forced to disagree. I just hope it’s a quality I regain once the baby is born!
