Written On Saturday 1st July 2017
I haven’t made it to ‘full term’ of a pregnancy before. Noah arrived in 2009, bright and early in week 36. Ellenah showed up in week 39, a week before Christmas in 2011. This baby boy is not only full term, he is now late. Having to tell people, ‘Nope, he’s still cooking’ when I walk by them with my baby bump in tact and they ask, ‘No baby yet then?’… It’s damn soul destroying.
I waddle along now. My body is getting bigger by the day. My slight frame feels like it is buckling under the weight. Struggling with the pressure on my organs. I feel like I’m falling apart in the heatwave of 2017. Pregnancy doesn’t look good on me like it does the other Mama’s. They glow, I sweat. They have thick, swishy hair, mine is shoved in a top knot. They look beautiful in maternity dresses, I look (and feel) like a tent. I don’t feel good. I don’t understand how these days and minutes seem so much longer than any other time in my life. AND, while we’re talking about it… Why is it so hot? Where is the air? Even a gentle breeze on my face as I’m striving forward with mum life would be ever so greatly appreciated. But, there is nothing! No relief. It’s almost as if it’s making my last days of pregnancy harder on purpose. Like I haven’t been through the mill. Like I don’t deserve a little break.
I feel selfish every day too. I always start the day with the best intentions. I wake up and tell myself to enjoy being pregnant in these last moments. Enjoy the feeling that I’m growing a life. Enjoy the miracle of pregnancy. But, I can’t lie, It’s hard to keep it up. Everyone looks at you with empathy but mainly pity. My smile fades as the hours tick past, and goes with it the hope that today will be the day. The day that I will finally get to hold him, look in to his eyes and tell him that I love him and to start raising him. I need that day. 9 months is too long to wait, especially when it hasn’t been an easy slog.
Of course, I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t change a thing because he is going to be so loved when he is here. He is so loved already, I sometimes wonder if it is actually possible to love him more. The hard parts and the waiting will soon feel like a distant memory. But, I need him here…soon.
As I was saying, I’m selfish. I know it and it is awful to know that I can carry such an ugly trait around with me during such a special life event. I feel like no matter how hard I try though, I can’t find my balance. No amount of telling myself off penetrates the barrier around my voice of reason. My job is to give my son a bedroom, his first home… for however long he needs and wants it. Why can’t I manage to simply get over myself?
I know that I am being this inpatient from a good place. From excitement. From all of the love that has been building for the past 9 months… and beyond at the mere thought of having another child. I feel like the love is going to burst out of my body at any moment, bold and unwilling to be kept inside, waiting. My heart loves him NOW!
Of course, I can’t bring myself to hate these last days of pregnancy. I can’t hate the way that our bond grows every day. I can’t hate that for right now, it is just the two of us doing this incredibly special thing, unique to my baby and me. I can’t hate that he is using my body as a place to grow and develop. I can’t hate it that my body is keeping him healthy and safe.
I just can’t wait to meet him, that’s all x