Niggles & Nudges

If, things had have went how they had been planned, I would now be telling people that he/she was two weeks old followed by his/her name. Instead, here I sit on my bouncing ball balancing a ibook on my knees with one baby perched on my bladder, one baby who still does not have a name.
One day over my due date I am feeling like for want of a better word- crap. I have now reached the stage where I am looking at my face in the mirror wondering if it has swollen as much as I imagine it has, the stage where every niggle and nudge could be a contraction, but as yet hasn't been. I have now also reached the stage where I want every niggle and nudge to be a contraction, but a second later I pray that it's not because I'm getting more afraid of whats to come..... and dreading the feeling I can only describe as passing a burning bowling ball out of my fandango!
I am not looking forward to that burning feeling, but I am totally, positively looking forward to holding my baby for the first time. Feeding him or her for the first time and giving them a name. A name that I and himself will choose, one that he/she will have for the rest of their lives.
Being 11pm I foresee that this little baby will not be born on the 13th July which is good. The 14th would be better (don't ask, I simply have a dislike to odd numbers). But with 14th July only one hour away and stretching for a further 24 hours I could (if I go into labour soon) give birth to my second child on the 13th anniversary of my grandas death. Which is a bit weird I think. Not that I wouldnt want that day to have two meanings, its just I remember so well 13 years ago telling my two younger cousins that they weren't allowed to laugh because Granda had just died.
If then I don't want the baby to be born tomorrow, I will want it to hang on for another day, until the even 16th comes about. Strange.
But at least we can thank god for some small mercies- the baby didn't arrive on its due date- the 12th July, which would have meant every year on his/her birthday the poor child would have to share it's birthday with a bank holiday celebrating the life of some silly protestant from Holland. The day everything closes and the bands come out to play...