Well thats it then.
Week 38 was the final working week for young Mistress P before the gummint said "no more", and banished her to (paid) maternity leave.
Armed with a stiff medical certificate she'd managed to work past the mandatory "6 weeks prior" kick out from the public service, and lasted through until the very last day - exactly 2 weeks before the due date. (At least this is better than 30 years ago - she would have had to leave, permanently, as soon as she got married...)
Strangely, while everyone has been saying for weeks "grrl, you're about to pop", when it came time to gather and eat cake (+ Ms L's cherry ripe slice... Mmmmm..... chhheeeeeerrry rriiiiiiippe sliiiiiiiceeee...) to celebrate Mistress P's move from salt mine slave to lady who lunches (and then pops), all and sundry were exclaiming "you cant be leaving already!" But she was.
In fact Mistress P was leaving later than at least one other girl friend from work who was due at roughly the same time. And who, it turns out, actually gave birth on the same day as Mistress P left the building. (But we better keep that secret... cos her partner is someone sorta famous but somewhat private... lets just say shes strictly dancing on such a good news week... ) Well done M!!
This is all, of course a sobering reminder that "the change" is just around the corner. Ruf
ous is now considered pretty much cooked - roughly medium rare on the carnivore scale. Hence the bags are packed and placed in the ready to roll position - lotsa heat packs, floor mats, food (for dad - Mistress P doesn't want him bonking mid labour), clothes (for bub and mum-to-be: "do you think I'd look alright giving birth in this?" Err.... sure....), some newborn nappies, all the required horse-piddle forms and an ipod.
For this final item it seems Mistress P is exhibiting the latter stages of preggas brain. Let loose in a music store to find some soothing "during labour" music (she was thinking of Dire Straights... I was thinking REM ("Its the end of the world as we know it...")), she returned home with the kill - a 50cents-in-the-bargain-bin CD of *AWESOME* hits from 1991.
Lets just say its opening track is by a certain Mr. Vanilla Ice esquire. For those that dont recall, I present, your honour, the evidence for the prosecution in the case of V.Ice vs Mankind: Ice Ice Baby...
Mistress P's other favourite off the CD appears to be "wiggle it, just a little bit, (acid groove!)", which surely will induce labour on the loungeroom floor if Mistress P keeps up the associated dance action. Oh, and "Cant touch this"... its Hammer Time. (Remember the pants??)
Aside from the bag packing and "music", there are also the new rules for dad-to-be. First and foremost is rule number 0.05.
On the Rufous front we've also found ways of teasing the little blighter.
Seems he isnt all that keen on being under the hot water in the shower, and can be seen squirming from one side to the other when the hot water is run down Mistress P's belly. (Must be all that English blood from mums side - cant stand to wash too often.)
He'll also do a little dance if you stroke down one side of Mistress P's belly. Oh yeah...
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Armed with a stiff medical certificate she'd managed to work past the mandatory "6 weeks prior" kick out from the public service, and lasted through until the very last day - exactly 2 weeks before the due date. (At least this is better than 30 years ago - she would have had to leave, permanently, as soon as she got married...)
Strangely, while everyone has been saying for weeks "grrl, you're about to pop", when it came time to gather and eat cake (+ Ms L's cherry ripe slice... Mmmmm..... chhheeeeeerrry rriiiiiiippe sliiiiiiiceeee...) to celebrate Mistress P's move from salt mine slave to lady who lunches (and then pops), all and sundry were exclaiming "you cant be leaving already!" But she was.
In fact Mistress P was leaving later than at least one other girl friend from work who was due at roughly the same time. And who, it turns out, actually gave birth on the same day as Mistress P left the building. (But we better keep that secret... cos her partner is someone sorta famous but somewhat private... lets just say shes strictly dancing on such a good news week... ) Well done M!!
This is all, of course a sobering reminder that "the change" is just around the corner. Ruf
ous is now considered pretty much cooked - roughly medium rare on the carnivore scale. Hence the bags are packed and placed in the ready to roll position - lotsa heat packs, floor mats, food (for dad - Mistress P doesn't want him bonking mid labour), clothes (for bub and mum-to-be: "do you think I'd look alright giving birth in this?" Err.... sure....), some newborn nappies, all the required horse-piddle forms and an ipod.For this final item it seems Mistress P is exhibiting the latter stages of preggas brain. Let loose in a music store to find some soothing "during labour" music (she was thinking of Dire Straights... I was thinking REM ("Its the end of the world as we know it...")), she returned home with the kill - a 50cents-in-the-bargain-bin CD of *AWESOME* hits from 1991.
Lets just say its opening track is by a certain Mr. Vanilla Ice esquire. For those that dont recall, I present, your honour, the evidence for the prosecution in the case of V.Ice vs Mankind: Ice Ice Baby...
Yo VIP, lets kick it...
{ice ice baby... do do do do-do do do ....ice ice baby}
...
Quick to the point to the point no fakingBacon? No. I dont know what he's on either. But tar-and-feather my blinky-bill ears, its frustratingly catchy. Our only worry is that 1) young Ruf will stay in if he thinks that what constitutes music in the outside world (And frankly, who could blame him) and 2) Like our friends who played James Blunt while preggas, it becomes the only song that now calms their 6-month old and must be played at all times, especially in the car (where no one can hear you scream).
I'm cooking MC's like a pound of bacon.
....
Mistress P's other favourite off the CD appears to be "wiggle it, just a little bit, (acid groove!)", which surely will induce labour on the loungeroom floor if Mistress P keeps up the associated dance action. Oh, and "Cant touch this"... its Hammer Time. (Remember the pants??)
Aside from the bag packing and "music", there are also the new rules for dad-to-be. First and foremost is rule number 0.05.
Dad-to-be at no time can be even vaguely within coo-ee of 0.05% blood alcohol level, cos just like batman, he must be ready at any time to jump on the bat pole, slide into the batcave, switch "atomic batteries to power, turbines to speed" and batmobile is go. (i.e., he cant get too pissed to drive, legally or otherwise).This, of course, was trickier than it seems when invited to a 21st - the first in donkeys years - of a sailing buddy where grog was free and flowing and hair generally being let down. Then again, it probably saved him from excessive perving at all the 20 y.o Paris Hilton look-alikes. (Or laughing at the girl wearing leg warmers... at least we were forced to live through the 80's.)
He must have petrol in car at all times and route planned for all eventualities.Fair enough.
He must carry a (charged) mobile phone on his person whenever out of bellowing distance. Especially at work.
On the Rufous front we've also found ways of teasing the little blighter.
Seems he isnt all that keen on being under the hot water in the shower, and can be seen squirming from one side to the other when the hot water is run down Mistress P's belly. (Must be all that English blood from mums side - cant stand to wash too often.)
He'll also do a little dance if you stroke down one side of Mistress P's belly. Oh yeah...
Ice Ice baby.
Wiggle it.
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