Waiting for something to happen

What are you meant to do when you've ticked off your to-do list and the baby still hasn't arrived? Make up stuff to do.

Waiting for a baby to arrive is like waiting for a bomb to explode. I am the bomb. 

Two weeks ago I was encouraging the boy to stay put—I was too tired to even think about dealing with birth and then a baby. Now I am so sick of waddling around with my stomach peeping over the top of my trousers like a friendly dolphin that I am trying to figure out how to bring on the labour. Meanwhile, I have been entertaining myself with pointless pursuits.

* After showing up at the wrong branch of an ultrasound franchise to find out the boy's weight and wasting everyone's time, I went for a coffee, taking advantage of the fact that I can still follow my whims. I sat at a table next to two mums who spent 40 minutes talking about nappies while I ate an Afghan biscuit the size of a side plate and grimly contemplated a future in which I too would spend 40 minutes talking about nappies.

* I bought the dog a new collar embellished with 70s-style orange and brown stripes. He looks very handsome although when I fastened it round his neck he shook dramatically as if it were a snake.

* I made two batches of ultra-buttery chocolate chip cookies, which were excellent, and one batch of M&M cookies which are not so impressive—a bit dry and clownish in appearance. I have been fielding well-meaning hints about making meals for the freezer but I am not the main cook in our household so I can't see the advantage of socking away over-salted stir-fries and watery cheese and tomato omelettes.

* We went to see Milk, which I thought was fantastic. I cried and cried at the end as if a member of my own family had been shot by a sexually confused Twinkie-eater, even though I knew exactly what was going to happen and had never before felt any special affinity for Harvey Milk.

* I watched Rachel Ray make three fatty, beige meals out of leftover ham and mug for the cameras. I don't like her at all. 

* I kept vigilant watch over the front gate. Some of the neighbourhood children like to open it and see if the pup will run out to play with them. I am now the kind of boring person who hangs out the bedroom window and shrills, "Leave the gate, please." 

* I read a novel about a long-term lesbian couple who were just as dull as any other long-term couple, which is a victory of sorts for the gay rights folks, I suppose, but made for a rather dull read. 

* I watched Jeremy Kyle yell at under-educated British couples who went on telly to learn the results of DNA tests to sort out the parentage of their babies. And then I watched the couples yell at each other and their in-laws and the security guards who came on stage to sort them out. And I laughed like a hyena.

* I researched the boy's star sign. He will be an Aries, enthusiastic and adventurous on the one hand, selfish and quick-tempered on the other. Apparently he will also be prone to headaches and sunstroke. Which makes perfect sense cos the one thing he doesn't have in his hipster wardrobe is little sun hats.

* I became a mailbox-watcher, padding down to collect the mail as soon as it arrived, only to encounter bills which I then didn't open. 

As you can see, life has taken a downward spin and the sooner this kid arrives the better. For all of us.