Birds of a Feather

You know you're pregnant when:-

1. You start thinking in weeks and wonder why no-one else around you understands what you're talking about
2. You eat everything and anything, and when people tell you that you've put on weight you smile and blame it on the baby
3. You think you might actually be able to get away with farting in public
4. People piss you off everytime all the time and for no particular reason
5. The words 'sense of entitlement' take on a whole new meaning especially when referring to parking, queues, aeroplanes and all-you-can-eat buffets
6. Baby City staff members know you by name
7. The sins of your past magically evaporate and you become a self-righteous, moralistic pain in the arse
8. Things like nipple expression, perineal massage and pelvic floor exercises become items on your daily To Do list
9. You start to keep an eye out for kid-friendly places and join a Mom & Tots Group even though the idea of it all makes you want to fall in a heap and cry
10. With monumentous effort you finally throw away that Size 8 boob tube that you used to wear in London with thigh high boots and hot pants
11. You realise that this is it. Life is never, ever going to be the same. Not never.

36.5 weeks (that's 8 months for the non-pregnants) and time appears to have stopped, even though my belly & boobs continue to expand at an alarming rate with annoying consequences. Bets are on for the actual arrival date of baby - the winner receives a years supply of condoms.

Tomorrow is Mike's birthday, and we will be celebrating with great aplomb. He has been working around the clock snatching 4 hours sleep a night if that. His nightly contract is over in a week and life will resume some semblance of normality. In the meantime its a heartwrenching thing to watch him lurch from one exhausted day to the next; I want to smash down Woolworths and all building contractors with their stupid shop fittings & tiles.

Last week we bore witness to a phenomenon proudly hosted by Mount Moreland (the village where we live) and 3 million swallows. The tiny birds migrate every year from the North and settle in the reed beds up the road from where we live for 4 months of summer before trekking off again to warmer pastures. At around dusk every day this vast number of birds come swirling down from the heavens creating what can only be described as a visual mind-fuck of nature; spectacularly grand in every way. Then as the sun dips behind the horizon, every single swallow dives into the reed beds and promptly disappears.

This is us setting up our spot to witness the action.

The official Ambassador of the Swallows is a woman by the name of Hilary Vickers. She is an obstreperous old bat, as colonial and uptight as her name suggests. If she catches you disobeying the rules of the conservancy, she will name and shame you on her special chalkboard at the entrance to the village for all the residents to see.

Mike & I are going to sneak out in the middle of the night and write on it in big bold chalk:-

HILARY SWALLOWS.