NB today’s post contains swearing and far too much information. The “not while you’re eating” and “adult content” tags are switched on.

This morning, pretty much on a whim, I went into town to get fitted for sleep and feeding bras at John Lewis. While I was there, I also managed to meet up with a friend I haven’t seen for ages and have lunch.

Good plan because it was the only day I could do in the next two weeks and after that we are getting into the don’t go anywhere where your waters breaking would be embarrassing zone. Ie, not into Cambridge by train. So a bonanza result all round.

John Lewis first, very kind helpful lady who did the calculations, based on my current 38G girth and it turns out that you should always buy a feeding bra one or two cup sizes larger then the one which fits you in week 38. We found a cup that fitted but it turns out you also go down a size round the chest, which makes the one cup size up into two, as cup sizes go up as your chest size goes down so the cups on a 34C, 36B and 38A are all the same size, and so on. In my case, as somebody who will drop to a 36 it means I will need… wait for it people… a 36K bra.

Yes.

A K cup. The biggest you can get before you have to go up to the next back size and just… well… take a dart in it or something… or have them specially made.

Yikes.

She ordered both and said if they don’t fit when they arrive I’m to bring them back - no 28 day rule for new mums, she told me, they give us a lot of slack. Bless their hearts.

Well, bras ordered I had a thoroughly enjoyable lunch, people watching and chatting with with my friend and then we went our separate ways, I to M&S to buy some new, pleasant post pregnancy pants… he back to work.

My M&S mission complete I decided I wasn’t sure I believed the woman in John Lewis about the K cups but since I’d let her order one anyway I headed off to the Huge Breasted Lady Shop (or Bravissimo, as it is sometimes called) to see if they had one I could actually try on.

They did.

The assistant came out of the back room with something so huge you could use it to kite surf. It was like some kind of double spinnaker, you know, for a really BIG ship. You could put a large savoy cabbage into each cup. You could pack it for a round the world trip. It’s so huge that when I was in the cubicle trying it on I got the giggles… They must have thought I was completely mad as I was practically crying with laughter by the time I came out of there and I was ON MY OWN!

The scariest thing of all though is, it fits exactly the way it should, ie with a little room for expansion and a pair of breast pads.

Hmm… It’s all very strange. They don’t really feel or look that much bigger than they were before, except at aqua natal when they bob to the surface and look alarmingly football like. But then I suppose the huge stomach ameliorates the impact. I should have realised I guess.

Needless to say I had to find a disabled loo after lunch and do another enormous pooh! Oh how I long for the day when I merely face the prospect of doing a normal sized pooh once or perhaps twice instead of producing a seemingly inexhaustible supply of giant cow pats every couple of hours, often into double figures…

I can’t understand where it all comes from. It’s not like I’m eating that much more… and… I know I probably shouldn’t go there but… what the heck, I’m going to… it’s not like normal pooh. When I come to wipe my bottom is like a giant brown felt tip which won’t run out. It’s like I’m never going to finish. If there’s only half a roll of bog paper I start to panic.

I never realised just how great a contribution the humble bidet was to the well being of mankind… or at least pregnant womankind. Since getting up the duff I’ve come to see it on a par with fire and the wheel.

Oh well, thank heavens for small mercies. I’ve only done three today so far *. Yesterday at my breastfeeding class it was very embarrassing as my stomach was growling like the MGM lion and I was the last person back from the 10 minute break and they were all waiting for me and all I’d been doing was sitting in the disabled loo poohing! For 10 minutes! Geez!

I walked the one and a half miles from the station into town and it was only when I had to go back to the station that I realised that the bespoke station shuttle buses no longer ran. Instead buses on other routes served the station every few minutes. Which routes though… Mmm… good question.

20 minutes later, I gave up trying to suss it out, the fact they were digging up the bus station so none of the usual departures were leaving from the usual stops didn’t help.

I wasn’t really set up to do the walk both ways… In fact I’ve never been so fucking footsore and knackered in all my life! I so envied those bastards who could fit on bikes… or into their cars…

Unlike me.

Wank!

On a different note, here’s some light trivia for you.

Did you know that the Norse god of love was called Frig. Yes Frigging in the Rigging is far more erudite and learned a song than we ever knew.

Mmm.

And there’s more…

Check out this little gem, below, which explains how the Dutch keep the urinals at Schipol Airport clean… Thank you to an anonymous somebody on stumble upon who put this up…

No home should be without one.

* Stop Press: It was FIVE by the time I went to bed though.