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I had a dream last night (possibly prompted by the news that Kate was in labour) that I had my baby. She had very blonde hair and strange blue eyes (with very blonde eyelashes) and a large, heart-shaped head, and she was a little too grown-up for a newborn (she opened a door for me while carrying a teddy, for example). I felt weirded out by her. I decided she looked like Meryl Streep. Then I noticed she was a boy. And for the whole time she/he looked at me with an expression that asked, “Are you still going to love me even if I’m odd?“ And I was thinking, “I don't know! Am I? I want to!“ It’s left me feeling a little freaked out about what’s to come.

Speaking of the baby*, I went swimming again this morning after a longish break. Though she’s (he’s?) still moving around a lot, bub seems to be spending a lot of time in a posterior position, and so I thought 30 minutes of forward-tummy time might encourage her to rethink this proclivity. I shouldn’t really say I went swimming; though I did manage to freestyle my way up and down the pool more times than I expected to be able to, I spent most of the time in the water with my head and arms resting on a kickboard, kicking my way along. There was a point where I closed my eyes for a minute or so and realised, upon opening them, that though I was still kicking I hadn’t actually moved forward at all. It was lovely.

Speaking of swimming, I’ve completely given up on caring about what I wear now. At the pool I’ve been cruising along with the ostrichy attitude of “If I can’t see my bikini line, neither can anyone else.” As for my non-swimming time, comfort now trumps all else. I’m fairly convinced that my maternity jeans were trying to strangle me, so they’ve been put away for post-baby days. Now I have just one set of pants and one skirt with soft, elastic-y waists that I can wear all day without feeling as though my life is at risk, and I will therefore wear one or the other every day and everywhere until this baby comes, despite the fact that the pants are daggy (very daggy) and I have no shoes to match the skirt besides my ugboots. As for tops, none of the warm ones are long enough to cover my whole belly, so I spend most of my time with a few centimetres of skin showing above my soft, elastic-y waistbands. If it’s a special occasion, I may make the effort to yank my top down semi-regularly (and I'll wear the skirt).

Even when not pregnant I don’t think too much about what I wear, although I generally do change my outfit from day to day (or week to week, depending on how much food Moses wipes on me). I must say, though, that I’m particularly enjoying this new level of BITE ME when it comes to fashion.

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* I’m sorry, I know it feels as though that’s all I’ve been doing here lately. A few weeks ago my midwife asked me if I’d started obsessing about baby things yet. I told her I hadn’t and wondered what she meant. That night I started obsessing about baby things. It will pass. I think it will pass. I hope it will pass.