S - Snoring

It's already started; it's here and he is leaving the bedroom. The Snore. No, correction, The Pregnancy Snore. A sound man thought woman could not make.

With our first child, he tried to "grin and bear" it. Because he was so excited about the arrival of his first child, it seemed like a small price to pay; the woman you love re-enacting sounds only ever heard on nature programmes as they film the largest species of bear hibernating in a dark, echoing cave. Of course he would try and nudge me, roll me over, even wake me up to tell the neighbours had just called and asked if I could keep it down. But it was to no avail. The Snore was staying for the duration. But with the second, as soon as it came, he would leave the bedroom, pillow over his shoulder, like a travelling sack, and retreat to the sofa, spare bed etc. Now, at six months pregnant with our third, he rarely makes it in the bedroom door. His rule is if he can hear me from the bottom of the stairs, as he makes his way to bed (I am usually asleep by 9.00pm), then he's not going to even attempt pleading with the growls for some sleep. He would rather take refuge on the empty top bunk in the kid's room.

I believe him. I don't think he is exaggerating at all. I have spent various nights on the maternity ward with both children, I have heard these heavily pregnant women rumble and roar in their sleep. Once, as he dropped me off in said ward, in the early hours of the morning, when my water's broke but labour lay dormant. We quietly shuffled into a ward and heard deep-throated, sleep grunts from behind the curtains.

"Am I as loud as that?" I whispered in disbelief.

"Louder." he replied iwthout smirk or trace of a wind up.

In this ward is where I also witnessed The Pregancy Fart, from the other side. But that's a whole new blog post.