I can’t bring myself to think about the fruit analogies at this point because the exit strategy for a water melon just doesn’t bear thinking about.
I’m almost there! This morning I looked out at the clothes line and saw my swimming togs, three pairs of leggings and three long vests dancing in the wind. Pretty soon they will be dancing their way into a charity shop. What now seems like my maternity ‘uniform’ has served me well in terms of comfort and practicality but I’m looking forward to jeans (that don’t have those hideous belly bands), heels and jackets and shirts that actually close.
More importantly, in the next few days we will go from being a family of three to one of four and I’m pretty excited about that. The spare room will eventually have a little occupant, as will the fourth chair at the kitchen table. Our son will have a sibling so we’re fascinated to watch all the changes that will bring about in his little world. Excitement is certainly mounting in the house as we mark the last week as three with dinners, outings and movies.
I’m trying to find a balance between excitement and anxiety and ….failing miserably. It’s like cramming away for the Leaving Cert for months without ever really thinking about the day of the actual exam. It finally arrives and you’re a ball of nerves. Well, that’s exactly where I am now. I walk into the baby’s room, see all of the tiny bits and pieces and feel like I’m going to burst with excitement. Then I have these flashbacks to labour the last time around and panic sets in. I remember the pain (people say you forget that over time. I didn’t) and the feeling that I wasn’t at all in control of my body. I remember the number of internal exams, the stern directives to ‘just breathe’ and the shock at how long it was all taking. When this happens I try to talk myself around by re-focusing on what the outcome was – I got to finally hold my son and our lives changed in the most brilliant way. If I was to sum it all up I would say that pregnancy is the race, labour is that last few miles and you’re handed your baby at the finish line. Best prize ever!
It seems I need to be admitted to the maternity four days ahead of my due date as a precautionary measure and have been advised that I won’t be discharged until after the baby arrives. The baby’s movements have slowed down and while everything seems ok, their little heart rate needs to be monitored until they arrive. I noticed over the last two mornings that things aren’t as lively in there. I have gone from furious kicking to little flutters. One of the consultants told me that this is common enough as space becomes an issue for the baby in the last week or two, so I’m not particularly worried. What I am upset about is the length of time that I will be away from my son and the impact that will have on him. Will he be frightened and upset? While my husband will explain everything to him and he can come and visit every evening, we had prepared him for the fact that I would be away for a few days, not a week. It’s more disruption than we planned but we’ll just have to roll with it. Sometimes we forget how resilient children can be, once things are explained to them.
So, here we go. Wish me luck as I head for the finish line.
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