why you should never pick up a stranger’s baby…when you’re hormonal

I have become an expert at phantom pregnancies. It seems all my five-hundred-and-sixty-two fertily phone aps I’ve added to my phone are not helping with my slight insane addiction concern with bearing a small person in my uterus. I check in with my one little favourite at least fourteen times a day, just to make sure it hasn’t changed…and strangely enough it doesn’t seem to differ from what it was the last time I checked. Two hours ago.

Yes, a more sane person wouldn’t have the same need to check, recheck and one-more-time-check to see if there are any slight rises in basal temperatures. But, since I am no sane person, I’ll settle with the dozen or so times it takes before I actually register there has no change, will be no change and it’s quite likely I am becoming more delusional the more time I spend looking at the stupid little blue screen, waiting for it to change.

See, there’s the problem. Ten years ago there were no apps. There weren’t even iphones. The only time you could check your computer was in your home and even then it was dial up and by the time it connected, you’d forgotten what you wanted to research anyway. There is such a thing as being too informed. There’s also such a thing as becoming too addicted to iphone fertility apps. What? Me?

Sometimes I feel like all the new mums and their newborns in the world seem to swarm on me the moment I set foot inside a cafe, shopping mall or go to the supermarket. They’re everywhere with their cute little squished up faces, all snuggled into their tiny cuddly blankets. It’s like they’re taunting me. Only they’re not, of course. But hormones will get the better of you and make you think cray cray things. Like the time I was having lunch with some of the girls and saw a brand spanking newbie all snuggled in its carrier. It took every ounce of my will power not to go and snatch that little thing up for a snuggle. Except the mother would probably think I was a deranged baby snatcher and have me arrested. ‘They’re probably sleep deprived anyway and would love a little break’. I say to the girls with just a hint of seriousness. Thing is, I’m not actually joking. I would give my left knee cap to have a baby right now. I am The Most Clucky Girl since Nadia Suleman, Octomum. Except I really don’t want eight babies. Well not at once anyway.

I’ve also taken up a new hobby which excited my hubby no end. It’s watching every single episode of One Born Every Minute that my little eyelids can take. You know the one, a documentary filmed in a maternity hospital where they show all the new bambinos coming into the world. It’s even better than finding out Hanson has reformed. But I’m not sure my husband shares my enthusiasm for these shows and is possibly beginning to regret his decision to ask me to be his wife – especially when I settle in beside him on the couch with my choccie bar and cup of tea as though we’re about to watch an action flick.

He rolls his eyes and quite likely mutters inside his brain that he married a baby-crazed maniac. But don’t feel sorry for him, the fun is just starting. I’d happily watch back-to-back episodes all day long. Watching teeny tiny little scrunched up munchkins come into the world…what? There’s no graphic bits…well, not real graphic ones anyway. They blur out the lady parts. Though I have noticed he does go a little quiet and squirms a lot when the birthing bits come on. Best he gets all the exposure he can… there is nothing quite more frightening than a pregnant woman during labour. Oh, fun times ahead.

Hugs, Lady Mama Gxx