There’s a chance this will be the last monthly update I write before Baby 2 makes his or her appearance. Flippin’ heck. Although I’m probably being…optimistic? Ted was of course very ‘late’, and I’m assuming we’ll have a similar wait for Baby 2.
I think I’ve written before about the pressure I felt last time at hitting 40 weeks…and 41 weeks….and 42 weeks. It’s bloomin’ tough, even without considering the physical toll. (Turns out that trying to go about your daily business with a seven-pounder attached to your innards gets a bit knackering.)
(And sorry for the use of the word ‘innards’.)
The pressure I was under from medical staff when ‘overdue’ last time was awful; the pressure from well-meaning pals asking ‘any news?’ (‘yes actually, but I thought I’d keep it to myself…’) was funny initially, then wearing.
I’m a barrel of laughs today anyway, aren’t I? I’m actually feeling well, and positive, and buoyed in a small way that I’ve done it before and know what to expect regarding that pressure and the discomfort of those last few weeks.
Besides, everyone’s telling me that Baby 2 will just plop out, hopefully while I’m watching First Dates on catch-up.
It will be a breeze, I’m sure. (Ha.)
There’s definitely a feeling of it being ‘the calm before the storm’ right now. We’ve probably got about six weeks of calm left, if Baby 2 matches Ted’s timeframe. And if ‘calm’ can accurately describe life with a wonderful two year old who runs from room to room each day shouting ‘OH NO NUMBER EIGHT!’ and ‘OH NO NUMBER SIX!’, with an occasional ‘OH ‘ECK!’ thrown in for good measure.
(‘Number eight’ and ‘number six’ of course refer to his beloved Numberblocks – he’s got some cheap toy versions, small plastic bricks that he can build up into his favourite characters, and knock down again, hence the ‘oh no’….)
(And my dad has taught him to say ‘oh heck’. Or ‘oh ‘eck’ – like he should be wearing a flat cap and rounding up his whippets.
(Ted now calls my dad ‘Grandad Oh ‘Eck’. My mum is still ‘Grandma Number 6’ because of their house number, or sometimes ‘Grandma Oh ‘Eck’. OBVIOUSLY.)
Every so often, I worry about how Ted is going to adjust to the new arrival. And when I say ‘every so often’, I mean several times a day.
I feel very emotional when I think about how he has no clue, really, about the momentous change that is about to occur.
(He sometimes says ‘baby’ and points to my chest – perhaps not surprising in light of how that area has expanded in recent months – but has no interest in looking at my moving belly whenever baby is doing his/her full-on Alien routine, especially when Numberblocks or Yakka Dee’s on telly.)
Ted has been the centre of our universe for two years – SOB – and soon he’ll have to share us. SOB. Our beautiful boy. SOB. Etc etc etc.
Then I come to my senses and realise how lucky we are and that the time will come and life will happen and we’ll survive (fingers crossed) and I’ll (hopefully) look back soon and wonder what the heck / ‘eck I was worrying about.
And Ted will probably still be ruling the roost anyway and demanding that Baby 2 watches sodding Numberblocks with him from day dot.
Eeeek.
*not the greatest photos but here’s Ted and his faves captured for posterity*
I’m clearly quite emotional at the moment, which I assume is normal. We went to the hospital yesterday to collect our home birth box (yikes) and I almost started sobbing in the car park at the sight of a young, brand new mum bringing her baby out into the world for the first time.
(I mean that she walked out in front of me carrying her baby in a car seat, not that she gave birth right there and then. Still, she might well have done, given how I wanted to fling my arms around her and tell her how amazing she was.)
(I managed to contain myself. And it was altogether less embarrassing than the other day when I cried at the Simply Red song ‘For Your Babies’. I don’t know why I admit to these things either…)
I’m blaming it all on the physical tiredness of late pregnancy; it must be affecting my brain now too. It’s only been the last week or so that I feel I’ve hit the stage where walking further than the kitchen is a gigantic effort. And having potentially six more weeks of it, in the middle of summer, isn’t the best, if I’m honest. But I will manage, like the brave little (pathetic massive) soldier I am.
(I might write about home birth stuff later, by the way, in a separate post. Although I think I always say I’ll write stuff separately, and usually fail to do so. Lucky you.)
Right, what else to report? On the work front, I think I might have another writing commission – yippeeee – and I’m getting some lovely feedback on my blog posts and social media and the like, which is very encouraging indeed. (Social media being Instagram, because I still can’t manage to put my work out on Facebook or Twitter for some reason. It’s not bloody difficult but I find it so hard to be methodical and consistent with it – whyyyyyyyyy?)
The rough aim is obviously to try and get as much work stuff done before Baby 2 comes, because it’s likely I’ll have very little time to myself for a good few weeks. (The understatement of 2019.)
At the same time, I’m trying to be kind to myself. And I’m getting to the stage where I’m too bloody knackered anyway (I don’t think I’ve mentioned that enough in this post yet, have I?), so whatever happens happens, and I’m very grateful to not have to slog away in these last few weeks if I’m not feeling like it.
Right, that’s enough of my over-privileged witterings again for one month. Thanks for reading, and bye for now x
