Gawd, I've got months of getting bigger, heavier and clumsier to go and already I feel sick of being so big, heavy and clumsy all the time. Every time I get up to walk around I can feel a load of weight pressing on my bladder. Eating a sandwich and reading the newspaper at the same time is uncomfortable just because that particular activity requires me to lean forward.
The boy has been very understanding; he gives me hugs, encouragment and - today - pink roses.
I visited another child care centre today, after work. This time it's one that's just down the road from work. Like the previous one, it's noisy, separated into one space for babies and another for preschoolers, full of toys and craft materials and staffed by young women with qualifications in Early Childhood Learning. Unlike the last one, the toilets weren't seem to take up a large part of the space, so there wasn't that faint toilety smell around the place. That's got to be a plus.
I dunno. Thinking about putting my kid into a place like this makes me feel a little depressed, because it means thinking about getting my baby out into the big wide world already - before I've even given birth much less bonded with it, learned to live around it's sleep patterns and taught it to enjoy being with other people. I should really stop thinking so far ahead, and concentrate on looking for cute, yet practical, baby strollers, cots and nursery decor.
Think pink roses.