The poetic version

You're by Sylvia Plath

Clownlike, happiest on your hands
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fool's Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.

Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Father off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.

Today's the day...

that our little Sprout is due. But I don't think he or she has any intention of arriving just yet.

Talking to Mum earlier we were reflecting on how quickly you forget the experience of pregnancy and although several people have asked if I was keeping a journal I've found it really hard to commit any thoughts about the process to paper.

In some ways I've been unwillingly superstitious after miscarrying last time, not wanting to create anything that may out-last this baby but recently I've come to a place where I think I can accept the pregnancy for what it is as a complete experience in and of itself now, before I even get onto thinking about life with my child.

I've been so well, a tiny bit of nausea and overwhelming tierdness early on but nothing more than that. In the last weeks I have the trade mark swollen ankles and am starting to feel like I am shrinking or at least am now as wide as I am tall.

I have loved the timetable that Sprout has kept, springing to life each night as my head touches the pillow and how it's striking a flamenco pose - one had by its head beating my bladder and two feet stamping by my ribs - and dancing earned it the name Ernest Fandango.

I have loved everyone's hopes, dreams and opinions on this child, how my half brothers and sisters named it Sedgley (?!) in a moment of familial madness and are almost bursting for it's arrival.

Reading up about it's development; a heart as tiny as a poppy seed beating at 6 weeks, seeing it yawn during a scan and taking turns to poke each other through my stomach.

It aches to think of those who couldn't wait on this earth to meet this new member of the family and intrigues me to see in what ways this child will carry their story on.

My waist measurement is 42 inches, I have no idea what I weigh. My hair and skin have been in amazing condition throughout, with no stretchmarks! I've been swimming every week, walking most days of maternity leave. Haven't craved anything to the point of having to have it but crisps, MacDonald's (yea gads), coca cola, sherry and everything I shouldn't eat (blue cheese, smoked salmon etc) have seemed awfully appealing. I went off coffee, tea and wine for two thirds of the ride but am now happily imbibing all three - in moderation of course.

Wierdest experience, heightened sense of smell. I swear I could have worked for the drugs squad in my first trimester, it was the most bizarre thing and not always pleasant

Will I miss life with a bump? Definitely. I'm wondering whether it will feel lonely for a while without an on-board friend.

Am I ready to give birth? Nature is a wonderful thing getting you to just that point of being so uncomfortable that you're ready to take delivery of this miraculous package.