Just call me 'Belle'

"Arghhhh!!!!!! It's huge!"

"Lord save us!"

"We're all gonna die! It will crush us all!"

"What that coming up the stairs? Is it a monster? Is it a MONSTER?!"

No, it was just me, going to see my midwives at the Midwifery Surgery. Apparently for almost 27 weeks (2 days to go) I am huge.

But whose fault is it I ask you? I have been eating healthily, I exercise - mostly, when I am not crippled by groin and back pain - and I drink a lot of water and not much else. So, it can't be my fault, can it?

"Well, your baby is registering extreme on most of the charts so..." I look up at my midwife expectantly but suddenly the phone is more interesting to her than the rest of the conversation. I look at the chart again. Humerus - extreme. Femur - extreme. The rest is gibberish. From my knowledge of biology, I know this means it has long arms and legs. Isn't it possible that baby just looks big because its long self is all scrunched up in there?

"No, right now there is still a lot of space for it to move around." She looks at me with pity.

Right. So, let me get this straight. Not only am I having an unplanned baby, but it turns out it will most likely be the World's Most Giant Baby EVER.

That sound you can hear is my vagina ripping in resignation.

Who am I to disagree?

I had this dream - vivid, as all pregnancy dreams are - in which my baby talked.

It was small, pink and talked. It was able to say "Mum I want some breast milk". It freaked me out even in the dream but I knew that I had to feed him. So I offered my breast expecting somehow to get bitten. I'm not sure why.

And then there was everyone else in the dream. They all wanted my baby. I spent the whole time shielding the baby from harm, trying to hide it from bad people who wanted him because he could talk.

And then I was awake, and I knew what the baby was going to be called all of a sudden. I knew its name, surely as if it had whispered it. And maybe it did whisper it.

So, who am I to disagree?

Oh God. Oh God.

I am horrified. HORRIFIED I tell you.

Disclaimer: If you are single, love shoes and have an extensive shoe collection, stop reading. Now.

You may continue reading if you don't care about shoes because I just have to tell someone.

OK, I accept that my womb will never be inside the cage of my pelvis after this. I accept that I have gained weight. I accept that my mind is no longer as sharp as it used to be and that I lose track of days (I didn't even know today was Tuesday). I accept that I am all kinds of hairy, I can smell things no one can and I keep wanting to clean until things squeak. I accept that I will never experience anything like pregnancy ever in my life.

What I cannot accept - and what I have leant to be true - is that I will NEVER be the same shoe size again! Why?! What will happen to all my lovely shoes?! Do you know how many unworn pairs of shoes I have saved up?

And the worst thing is, one is not advised to splurge until one has had all their children because one does not know what shoe size one might end up with.

My friends, these are scary times. And there are scarier times ahead. What if I end up looking like I borrowed a pair of feet from Bilbo Baggins?