April 29: Talk to me

My hypnobirth teacher keeps asking if I am talking to my baby. The ‘hypno’ philosophy seems to be that birth is a joint process. It’s not something that just I do alone, it’s something that Bumpette is involved in too. It’s teamwork, apparently - with Bumpette in charge (as she knows how to do it). Phew. I'm glad one of us does. I haven't got a bloody clue. The hypno-talking is also designed to make mothers more aware that their babies are already alive and kicking - they're just being a bit antisocial and haven't come out to play yet.
Each session, my teacher asks: ‘And how is the conversation going?’ I don’t really know what to say. I’m quite bad at talking to Bumpette. I do normally manage a hearty good morning after I’ve woken up (only polite I suppose.. not nice to ignore someone who’s sharing your bed with you). But after that, what can I say, really?Would you mind awfully getting your foot out of my ribs? Could you please move two inches to the left to avoid crushing my bladder? Would you like honey or jam on your toast? I do think about Bump an awful lot, trundling things over in my pea-sized brain, wondering what he / she will look like / be like. (I nearly fell off my bike the other day day-dreaming. Well, in fact, I nearly cycled into a low-lying fence at the end of a cycle path. Who invented those things?)
But, more often that not, when I think about what to say to Bumpette, the only word that springs to mind is 'sorry'. Sorry Bumpette, I want to say, for all this mess, for the way it’s turned out; for everything. Sorry it’s all so sad and heart-breakingly painful. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Then I want to reassure him / her, to say as my mum says to me: 'Don’t worry, it will all be ok. it will work out, it will all be fine.' For some reason, though, I think Bumpette's doing ok. I don't think they're miserable. Don't think he / she needs a shrink just yet. I think he / she will do alright in this big, beautiful world. Ignorance is bliss, after all.