Last laugh: A rum old time

So it’s not just the tur­key you have in the oven this fes­tive sea­son? Strictly speak­ing, this is the back­ward way to do things, writes fa­ther-of-three Craig Bishop

Your Pregnancy - - Contents -

STA­TIS­TI­CALLY YOU are in fact sup­posed to be con­ceiv­ing at the mo­ment, as op­posed to ges­tat­ing. (I’m hear­ing some­thing about ships hav­ing sailed…) Sci­ence can’t quite agree whether this is be­cause cold weather and changes in the length of day­light hours makes for health­ier sperm, or be­cause you got horny un­der the mistle­toe and ended up face down in the eggnog while hubby got his fum­ble on. Ah, but, but, but, you say, this is the south­ern hemi­sphere. It’s 35 de­grees in the shade out­side and there are no day­light sav­ing hours here. My man’s swim­mers should be re­clin­ing by the pool with their shades on, mo­ji­tos in hand, all som­no­lent with heat, not hud­dled up with anoraks and a goget-her at­ti­tude. Well, I can’t ex­plain why so many women are preg­nant right now. In the mistle­toe the­ory, claim­ing your kiss un­der the mistle­toe is likely to lead to what nat­u­rally comes next. And that’s how it should be, be­cause it’s a mag­i­cal time of year to have a bun in the oven. Re­mem­ber the vir­gin birth? If you’re re­li­giously or spir­i­tu­ally in­clined, then it can be spe­cial to be preg­nant at the same time Je­sus’ mother was. Back to the magic, though. Mil­lions of peo­ple all around the world are get­ting their Yule­tide groove on. You how­ever have to be a wee (ex­cuse the pun) bit care­ful. In many ways, you are in fact putting the No back into Noel. No cock­tails for you at the of­fice party. No sea­sonal rum snifters. No runny, stinky cheese. No sushi dates with the girls. No cool presents to look for­ward to – ev­ery sin­gle gift will be for baby, not you. And if you are more than seven months preg­nant, no fly­ing off to ex­otic lo­cales with hubby. But there are some unique ben­e­fits too. And it’s worth­while fo­cus­ing on these as the tem­per­a­ture soars, as your work­mates col­lapse into the rum-laded punch and as ev­ery other woman on the planet ap­pears to have lost 5kg overnight. (Well, I say “lost”. It ob­vi­ously isn’t lost be­cause you ap­par­ently found those miss­ing kilo­grams. Overnight.) You get to add some cool, new, hip­ster names to your baby names list, and no one can say a word. Robin, Holly, Eve, An­gel, Berry and Abi­gail come to mind. (Abi­gail was the third wife of King David of Royal City fame.) And if it’s a boy – Ru­dolph, Jack (as in Frost), Joseph (as in be­mused) and Yule (as in fu­ture pop star). Equally cool – you have a brand new ex­cuse for when you don’t want to go round to your in-laws or shop­ping or jog­ging or do the wash­ing up – blame it on the morn­ing sick­ness, which as we all know is any­thing but con­fined to the morn­ings. Put those swollen an­kles up and re­lax, I say! No liv­ing crea­ture will dare come be­tween you and the tin of Qual­ity Street and/or pick­les. But best of all, and I leave this for last be­cause it re­ally is bestest ever. When no one is watch­ing, or even when the whole world is watch­ing, you get to hug your bump and wish your baby his or her first ever Happy Christ­mas.


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