Closer to 21 weeks now in fact. I’m counting down in a reasonably big way. When I was pregnant with Freddie, it seemed terribly important to enjoy every last minute because I was sure he would be the last. Even with all this misgivings I had, I enjoyed it. This time it is harder to see pregnancy as anything other than a process to go through, with a non-determined outcome. I said to someone that it felt a little like being pregnant with a tumour, one that might be benign, was hopefully benign, but might be going to cause anguish and the wait for diagnosis is just VERY long.
That’s not to say I’m not enjoying it, despite everything. Even though I find myself incredulous at anyone else who sets about pregnancy with a presumption that it will end with a baby, I’m nonetheless managing to do that myself. part of it is an act of will that I am making myself believe. I think to be constantly on the edge and dramatic about it would be self-indulgent; the girls and Max need me to be calm and positive and that is helping me to be so. My hospital is doing a brilliant job of supporting me too and as I said elsewhere, in some respects it is just a triumph of experience over potential lack of hope; most of my babies have come home. I have to believe this one will too. Even if this still feels more like a hiatus in ttc than anything else.
My subconscious is less happy. Last week it treated me to a less than pleasant dream. I dreamt I was pregnant with 3 babies; one was curled up protectively, keeping itself safe, one was lying weakly back and in the centre was a leering and malevolent spirit baby, who was clutching the cord of the weak one and reaching out to try and hurt the well one. It was not a good feeling to wake up from that.
There is a piece of me deeply grieving for Freddie just now but I’m not able to look backwards and forwards. That is hurting my soul, making me wake up in the early morning and spend long hours trying NOT. TO. THINK. Some days I can do it, some days I fret and some mornings, like yesterday, it just all gets too much. One thing I can’t do is write soulfully about it just now. Pragmatic is all I have in me; record keeping of a grief and a pregnancy.
But Marmite is doing well, getting bigger, wriggling more. This week he has kicked Max and then kicked the girls in turn and spent plenty of time head butting my bladder. Marvellous. He did cease and desist the tummy button tattoo on request, which was good. And so far I’m only 5lbs up in total, most of it holiday and fluid in my legs I think, so I’m pleased about that and pleased not to have indigestion yet.
I’m holding on to the wisdom of friends who have reminded me that hope does not kill babies and that Marmite deserves all my love and positivity, because not giving him that will not help me if I lose him.
The name debate has started. None of Freddie’s name list feels right to use and none of us can agree on anything else. I read a list of 6000 names this morning and didn’t like any of them 😀 I originally dreamt this babe would be Jacob and I had it in my head it meant ‘longed for son’ or something, but I think that is Isaac and actually Jacob means ‘supplanter’ which I discovered this morning – which definitely feels wrong. REALLY makes me wonder what my brain was up to all those months back :/
He could well end up as Marmite 😆
So here we are, heading for my next big milestone. I’ve got this pregnancy divided into chunks, the next being 24 weeks when we become 2 people, not a woman and a baby too small to survive without her. I’m so enormously different from how I was 18 weeks ago that I hardly feel like the same person with the same pregnancy. Goodness knows what it will be like in another few weeks. I know that just now is the breathing space moment; enough movement to feel safe and be able to trust it most of the time, without the panic of the last few weeks and all they could bring setting in. All I can do right now is wait.