Practice does not make perfect

Braxton Hicks contractions are a totally pointless addition to the final days of pregnant misery.

They serve no purpose other than to make you feel like a beachball being inflated with the intention of bursting. Most pregnancy advice will mention these 'practice contractions' as a mild, painless and infrequent tightening of the uterus. They don't mean labour is imminent, they don't mean anything exciting is happening, they don't mean you will be a guru in labour, they don't even really mean 'practice' because real labour apparently feels quite different.

I get them all the time if I attempt to do anything that involves moving. They are not painless, they are very annoying and they probably mean that when I am in real labour I won't realise, be very annoyed with the whole thing and find my baby swinging between my legs while I hang out the washing.

I wish.

I guess I had better learn how to operate my Tens machine. The phrase 'can't be arsed' springs to mind but I will probably poke myself in the eye if I need it whilst still uneducated. Fiddling around with instructions and wires while in labour isn't ideal. I wouldn't want to send electrical currents through any body part that may object.

My high coke consumption continues despite the consequences. I thought yesterday the dog was genuinely competing with me until I realised he had what I call 'poopy bum' (use your imagination - he's a hairy dog) and I had to bathe him. This meant my sumo-self emerged again, hunched over the bath trying to avoid the flying crap. Now this is real practice.

I knew I shouldn't have fed the dog that grape.