One of the traditional must-do's for a couple into their final first-pregnancy month is a last trip away, just the two of you, no kids. Cos, well lets face it, there's a significant chance that this will be the last time we get to spend a child-free long-weekend away (or "mini break" as Bridget Jones would say) until about, oh, maybe,... 2027! (Crikey.)As is our want we headed down to Sandy Point, near Wilsons Prom in Victoria's South Gippsland region, and rented the very same house in which we were married, "Moovue" (on account of it looking over a cow paddock). Boootiful. We shared the place with a couple of friends who also brought down their baby girl - sorry, toddler: I was corrected that a 1-year old is officially a toddler - so technically, it wasn't a kid free weekend. But hey, we weren't changing the nappies, so I reckon it still counts. (And she's a dear...)
Lots of walking on the amazing beach, swimming in the surf with the fishes, gazing out to sea (see pic), lazing on the couch/deck/grass, and even a spot of (unsuccessful) fishing in the inlet
for AB as Mistress P had left the all important fish oil at home.Friends left a day early, so in the end we had a solid 24 hours for just the two of us, in which we did what any preggy couples do when they're alone: watch a Bollywood film on SBS (mmm... Tania Zaetta...) and eat a microwaved dinner. AB also managed a sublimely relaxing windsurf on the inlet, where we bumped into Tim.
Tim is the Tim Daddo (no, not one of THE Daddos - who all went to AB's school by the way) who once held the world sailing speed record - and who was at Sandy trying to break the new world record and be the first man over the 50 knot barrier in a sailing craft. Tim has chatted to us before on the beach, as AB has done some work for him, meteorlogically-wise, to help their chances.
"How long you here for this time Tim?" said young AB.
"Oh, till Easter. You wanna help out?" said young Tim.
AB: "Might be a bit of a problem - babies due bit before that. Never know though, we could have the kid and a new world record on the same day! How cool would that be!!"
{Mistress P rolls eyes..}
Tim: "Yeah, cool!,... If that happens you'd have to call it '50 knots'! "
AB: "Awwright!"
{Mistress P gives up all hope of understanding males...}
The final day wasn't all standing round on beaches talking to nutty sailing people - though there were some others, one of which (a retired and socks-and-sandals wearing hippie ex-scientist) just looked at Mistress P and announced "You're ready to pop". Also a couple of very nice German backpackers/kitesurfers: "Vere do zoo find wavze? Vee huv no wavze in Germany."
We had heard about some nice kid-friendly beaches at Walkerville, so tootled off there (and Cape Liptrap: see pic right) to check it out.
We didn't find any beaches better for kiddies than the Sandy inlet, but we did meet a lady struggling to put a ginormously heavy plastic kayak on the roof of her car. Thus ensued another interesting conversation....
"Excuse me" she said "can you give me a hand with this thing?"
"Well, i can, she probably cant" AB replied, pointing at Mistress P + Ruf.
"Oh... are you walking in labour dear?"
Apart from not exactly knowing what she meant by "walking in labour dear" - did she think Mistress P was actually in labour(?) - it was also somewhat of a shock to think that 2 people in the space of an hour reckoned shes that close to popping...
People.. we have (just under) four weeks to go.
Having said that, the one thing that has well and truly popped is Mistress P's belly button. Its all the way out now, and when covered by a close fitting T-shirt looks remarkably like a nipple on a third breast. Its quite unnerving and some may say mildly erotic. (There must be a kinky web site out there devoted to such things; "rate-my-belly-nipple.com", surely...)
From the hips down Mistress P looks incredibly, well, normal - must be the preggies pilates, swimmin' with the wimmen, and bike riding she is still doing (cupla days a week from Elwood to Docklands... 13.5km: she cant be stopped, see pic - or even better, the video (15MB)! ) - but she was complaining that none of her skirts fit anymore. Once again, friends to the rescue, this time in the form of young Ms B (soon to be Dr), the master gardener, dessert chef and seamstress.
"Gimme a look" she said, and dragged Mistress P off to the disabled dunny, measuring tape in hand. By Monday there appeared an amazing patterned, burnt orange, ruched-top skirt that fits like a glove, flatters the form and is the envy of all Mistress P's friends;
"No, no, its not Versace, its... Bettio, haute couture."
"rhubarb rhubarb... Ohh.... my... Italian... expensive... rhubarb rhubarb"
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