Six things I didn't think I'd get a chance to do when I was stuck in a hospital bed last week...

1. Get to Rigby and Peller to be properly fitted for a nursing bra, rather than making do with the ones I grabbed last week from M&S in the pre-hospital panic, which were fairly grim and only possibly, vaguely, maybe in my size . And a good thing too, since the mighty maternity mammeries have really outdone themselves and gone up from a perfectly ample and respectable D-cup, to an earth shattering, superhero-esque... wait for it, wait for it... H-cup (BOOB-WOMAN! Here to save the earth with her crimefighting norks! Deflecting death rays from their targets of innocent children's eyes, rebounding meteors from their collision paths with orphanages, providing lots of milk for hungry Lumpies... (etc.)) Anyway, on Saturday I got to venture up to the big city (where I always feel like quite the yokel, chewing on a straw and scratching my head in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, going 'ahhhh, there sure be a lot of peoples in this here place. And they all know where they're going...') and visit the greatest bra shop in the world. I first experienced the wonder that is Rigby and Peller (or R&P, as those of us in the know call it) about three years ago, in the run up to the Badger wedding. That time was truly epic, with a grand total of £800 spent (I know, I know, it's disgusting. But I did discover that my bra size was actually 32D and not the 38B I'd been wearing thus far, and therefore needed to replace all of my bras, plus buy two full sets of wedding lingerie because, you know, who can possibly decide? And the pants in this place cost £89. Pants!) This time I was somewhat more restrained, and only bought two bras for a modest £100. They're not exactly as lovely as the purchases on the previous visit (I mean, how sexy can anything with full-frontal access really be? Oh, okay, very.) But they fit, or at least hopefully will still fit when I'm engorged (what a great word engorged is. We should use it more. Engorged, engorged, engorged.) Right, moving on from the engorged orbs...
2. Make it to my last official day of work, and actually get all the jobs done that I wanted to do. This was one of the things that actually upset me the most about being admitted unexpectedly - the fact that I was leaving things in a mess at work and hadn't been able to finish up properly. If I hadn't have got a chance to come back, I know those loose ends would have bothered me the whole way through maternity leave. It's not that I'm terribly important at work, or that the others in the department couldn't cope with sorting out the few things that would have been left, but it just felt completely wrong to leave stuff undone. I'm a control freak, okay? But now the jobs are all done, I can leave a nice 'I'm now on maternity leave...' message on my email, I can tidy my desk a bit, and make sure I haven't left an old banana or half a sardine lurking in the back of a drawer, and this will all hopefully ensure there are no waking-in-a-sweat-at-three-in-the-morning-stressing-about-work incidents (just lots of being-woken-in-a-sweat-at-three-in-the-morning-by-screaming-baby incidents, which is fine and to be expected).
3. Got my hair cut and my highlights re-done. This was truly essential, as I'm fairly sure I will not be one of those beautifully groomed, organized, and accessorized yummy mummies who somehow manage to care for their babies and pick out coordinated outfits, get their hair done, wear make-up, etc. etc. This is because I am not one of those women who manage to pick out coordinated outfits, get their hair done, wear make-up, etc. etc., so I'm guessing things probably won't be improved by the addition of a squealy, demanding, projectile vomiting little person. But things had reached a fairly drastic stage, and my roots were scaring small children and animals in the street, so something had to be done. And so I am now once again blonde and cropped, and it'll be a good two weeks before the roots are showing through. So I'll look massively glamorous in the post-birth pictures, which is what really matters.
4. Go for a pregnancy massage. I've been intending to have one of these pretty much the whole way through this pregnancy. I even had an idea that I could get into the habit of having one every few weeks, as a treat. But when do I manage to finally book it? For next Tuesday, the day before my due date. Excellent work. So I haven't actually managed this one, yet, but fingers crossed I might make it...
5. Get back on my bike. I love my bike and it has bravely borne my ever-increasing bulk over the last 9 months, with only occasional chain-snapping incidents. I thought I'd just keep cycling for as long as I could, and would stop if it got uncomfortable or too tiring, but it never has (and has certainly been better than the prospect of a crowded, sweaty bus or a very long walk). I always had a secret hope that I'd be able to keep cycling up to my last day in the office, and here it is. I may have slowed down somewhat, my hands may get weirdly numb from the extra weight I'm leaning on them, and poor old bikey may be very happy when the mighty burden is dismounted for the last time, but I made it (and with those engorged baps along for the ride, too).
6. Go for a curry, laze in a beer garden after work, watch lots of Wimbledon, and have a barbecue. All of which I'll be doing this weekend. It's not that we won't be able to do any of these things once Lumpy has arrived, and in fact we're determined to continue our lives much as before, and just bring him along, but I'm also savouring these last moments with just us, before we start on the next big adventure as a threesome.