Big Pants

This morning I found myself being ordered by my husband to “just go out and buy some big pants”.

You see, I’ve been procrastinating about packing my hospital bag. It was on my list of things to do as soon as I started maternity leave, and it was something that I was actually looking forward to. Looking ahead to it, it seemed exciting to think about gathering together all the little bits and pieces I’ll need when we bring our little one in to the world, and it seemed to signify the beginning of the end. But now that I’m here, it is actually just making me think “Woah, this is really happening and I’m not ready.” The irony here, of course, is that without the bag packed I’m quite right: I’m not ready!

There have been other obstacles, though, to actually getting it done. Like getting out and buying miniature sized toiletries, and making sure my pyjamas are washed. The there has been the little crisis about clothes  that has prevented me from getting the baby’s stuff ready. And then there have been big pants.

Yes. BIG. Pants.

The single biggest stumbling block to getting my hospital bag packed.

Everyone tells you all about how you need to pack plenty of pants for after the birth. The “official lists” (in places like the NHS pregnancy literature) suggest disposable pants. And honestly, not many thoughts right now could horrify me more, including the thought of my waters breaking in public. The idea of wearing crinkly paper pants that likely will not fit at all, and potentially will chaff horribly, when I’m almost certainly going to be feeling pretty sore…. No thank you. The suggestion from real women who’ve been there is just to buy big, cheap granny knickers that you can always throw away after the birth if needs be. Preferably in black in case of leakage,  so I’m told. (Between you and I… ewwwwww, I do not want to think about this. And I’m so not ready.) Apparently they need to be big to hold the maternity pads mattresses in place, and come up nice and high in case of a c-section, to avoid the scar line. (Lala lala la la… I can’t hear yoooooou.)

So what I’ve really been procrastinating about is not packing the bag, it’s going out to buy said granny pants. I’m not sure why it’s such a stumbling block. I’ll be a heavily pregnant woman in the middle of the M&S lingerie department. No one is going to think that I’m actually going for sexy, and failing. I think, I hope, it will be obvious why I’m buying gigantic granny knickers that would put Bridget Jones to shame. But somehow it still hasn’t got done.

We’re going away this weekend, on a little last-weekend-away-without-baby thing, also known as a Babymoon. (No, I didn’t know that either.) It would seem sensible to toss the bag and my maternity notes in the boot of the car “just in case”. (And because I have an irrational theory that having it there will actually prevent anything from happening. Because sod’s law dictates I will only go in to premature labour miles away from home if I’m completely unprepared with no hospital bag. And hence no big pants.)

Which is why my husband felt the need to order me to go and buy big knickers. And which is why I‘m sitting here writing this… procrastinating!


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