An extra few weeks of pregnant seems to have passed since I last blogged it. I suppose Christmas does that to time. For ages we’ve had ‘just get past Christmas’ as our mantra, known in our head that work and stuff would keep us busy and that then there would just be January and a bit of February to slog through. And now it’s all done and January feels very long indeed. I think maybe I need some visitors to distract me.
As expected, the last few weeks have been harder. I feel positive about the health of this small person, it is certainly a gymnastic baby who, after a couple of weeks breech, has gone for transverse and head down again. What is haunting me is the possibility of a random tragedy now, some twisted knotted cord horror, or an accident. I scared myself silly with a near car bump when someone pulled out in front of me the other week, almost immediately followed by slipping down the steps and landing hard. I haven’t felt safe since. Being so near the end is nearly as hard as having aeons to go. The week before Xmas I was fretting about less movement and after a routine scan, had some monitoring. That convinced me for 5 days and by Boxing Day I was panicky again and went for more. By then it was obviously a position change that was causing the difference, but I got booked for an extra scan just in case. That scan ought to have reassured me, but a loop of cord round the back of his neck and back has me on paranoid level gazillion. I just want this baby out now. I don’t want to wait another month.
I can’t say there is much joy left in being pregnant any more. It’s a slog – not physically as it has been relatively easy on my body – but my brain is done in. I’ve lost any entertainment in the high mobile belly etc etc. I just want to be safely and happily in March. But at the back of my mind I know that at 33 weeks pregnant with Freddie I had less than 9 weeks left of his company forever and I know I should be relishing this bit just in case.