Pregnancy

The Waiting Game

The Waiting Game

To be honest my blogging skills throughout this pregnancy have been a bit more lacking than I would have liked, but when  doing a Master’s degree based around writing all of my creative energy seems to have been spoken for. That being said, here we are, in the final stretch of things and here’s a rundown of my final weeks (I’m more hoping days…) of being pregnant.

The Heat.

Hi friend, let me give you a tip, if you’re going to plan your pregnancy (unlike me), try and make sure your final trimester is not in the height of summer. It’s too hot. Always. Sleeping is a joke. My fingers are constantly swollen, my rings are never coming off. A ten minute walk in the sun has you ready for a nap.

However, it’s not all doom and gloom. A couple of tips if you are stuck in my situation;

  • Refrigerate a jug of water, the cold tap just doesn’t cut it anymore.
  • Make some homemade ice-lollies, fill with orange juice or cordial and water. Simple but wonderful.
  • Buy a fan (I have yet to do this, but luckily my other half is an angel and will bat some paper in front of me to keep me cool.)
  • Cold flannels. They are everything.

The Weight.

I can’t say I actively tried to not put on weight, realistically those cheese toasties in the early days were being eaten no matter what, but I’ve somehow managed to gain less than 10lbs and actually lost weight in my legs. That being said, I still do waddle around.

The sun is out, you want some fresh air, let’s go for a walk! Ten minutes in you realise your mistake. The bump is starting to get heavy and an old lady stands back to let you pass her on the path – that’s when you know you must look like you’re suffering, when the old ones step back for you…

It’s not just the walking, standing up and sitting down that’s awkward though, I have on occasion kept a tv channel on because I couldn’t be bothered getting up for the remote – that has got to be a new low.

The Panic.

So far hopefully your pregnancy has gone relatively smooth, thankfully I’ve had no problems with mine. That being said, I still have that panic in the pit of my stomach whenever I think of the potential issues that could arise.

Will my baby be blind? Deaf? Healthy? Will they be able to walk? Talk? What if I screw it up? Drop it? Overfeed it? Underfeed it? The bath water is too hot? I forget nappies? What if? What if? What if?

The Labour.

Throughout my pregnancy we decided to do a course based on relaxation and meditation to help with the labouring process (I will write a more in-depth blogpost about it after). I have decided to go drug-free and have the baby in a birthing centre rather than hospital. I feel pretty strongly about these decisions and know they’re what’s best for me, on the other hand, that doesn’t mean I’m not slightly worried about it. I’m meant to push a potential 8lb baby out of my body. It could take as long as 12hours. If that won’t spur on a couple of vivid dreams and bouts of anxiety I don’t know what will.

Also please stop reminding me that women have been doing this for centuries. It doesn’t help.

The Impatience.

I JUST WANT TO MEET THE BABY. And what’s worse? Everyone constantly asking… ‘is it here yet?’

If you have a pregnant friend in her last few weeks, you have a vague idea of when the ‘due date’ (bullshit) is, you check in every now and then asking if she has any niggles of when it’ll happen, any Braxton hicks or contractions? – stop it. She will let you know when the baby has arrived.

I have found myself sporadically going into the baby’s room, looking through the clothes, rearranging things and flicking through the books we’ve bought.

As terrified as I am, I am so incredibly excited to meet the little one I’ve been growing for the past nine months and finally confront those little feet which have been nonstop kicking me.

Ps. For some reason everyone who sees these dinosaur themed clothes are convinced it’s a boy. We got them because Darren likes dinosaurs and one of them says Daddy Loves Me on it. Quit it with the stereotyping already.

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