Disco birthing and baby shower!

So my lovely friends in Sarf London threw me a baby shower on Friday, hurrah. It was lots of fun and proved I can actually drink alcohol without weeping, as I consumed 3x small glasses of prosecco (over a 7-hour period, but still) and thought I was very hard indeed. Apart from the amazing cakes (strawberry pavlova, pictured *drools*) and cucumber n watercress sarnies, I was lucky enough to get some gorgeous presents too - uber-trendy unisex baby clothes, bunny-eared towels, a brightly-coloured cuddly centipede (which makes noises!!) and lots more - as well as being the recipient of many compliments re my fecund state. Weirdly though, I found it really hard to hold actual 1-2-1 conversations along the lines of 'so what are you up to at the moment, how's the job/man/house/kids?' Either inescapable proof that Mr Brain has long since departed, or due to the prosecco and the arduous journey (Bakerloo/Victoria lines, no fun in my condition)....either way, I guess I got away with it....although I am still clueless as to most updates in certain friends' lives! Is there anything more self-centred than a preggers chick? Its all me me me with me....may explain why I am currently loving the name Mimi...

Saturday saw a trip to the birthing centre at St Mary's hospital, complete with flat screen TVs, slings to swing off mid-contraction and swanky-looking birthing pools which just needed fillng with Bollinger to complete the Las Vegas vibe. However, my personal favourite gadget was definitely the purple glitter birthing chair....more disco than Donna Summer, and more proof, if were needed, that the extended porn mix of 'Love to Love You Baby' will be No1 on our i-Pod playlist (yes, they have docking stations too). Of course, there is a payoff for these beauteous surroundings courtesy of the embattled NHS - in this case, that would be the lack of anything stronger than gas n air to get you through contractions, and should you wish otherwise then its off to the 70's-inspired labour ward with you, milady (am sure, on my last visit there, I saw a small boy with page boy hair on a tricycle being terrified by a semi-decomposed, bath-dwelling ghost but that may well have been a paranoid hallucination), so if I do end up yelling, in true yummy mummy style, 'JUST GIVE ME THE DRUGS YOU BASTARDS', I will hopefully be too far gone to be on the lookout for Mr Nicholson and his axe ("Heeeere's Caesarian!")

Well, I'm off to order my Tens machine and think positive. Our zany Canadian midwife has urged me, every time I receive a text (does she KNOW how often that is right now?) to practise a little light perineal massage, but I am sadly coming up with every excuse in the book not to comply. And hey, its not always appropriate. Sometimes it's hard to be a woman.....and sometimes, its a genuine trip into the unknown. Eeeek!