I’m 36 weeks tomorrow people! I’m nearly freakin’ full term. When the heck did that happen??
And right now I’d say apart from all the ends left untied at work, and the fact I want my lovely mum to get here first, I’d gladly put this pregnancy thing to a halt and meet my baby girl.
A couple of weeks ago I was quite on the fence about it.
I wanted time to go quicker as I was over being sore. Although, more than that, I was getting fed up of not being able to do the things I would normally do. We were trying to finish up some home renos and the nursery before the baby shower and the arrival of MIL for a few days. Mr OC, the poor guy, was basically at the mercy of my instructions to hang this crap there, and fix this crap to that, while I tried to race around after him, passing the right wrong tools or marking up walls with pencil and tape measure.
Even doing useless, stupid jobs like that I was completely exhausted!
And then when hubby’s out I’ll still try and move beds or furniture and then realise what a bad idea it was as I feel a big click somewhere in the region between my butt and my lower back.
Then there is the flip side when the time can’t go fast enough. As I look at the couple of weeks I have left of work and I get so excited that in a few days I won’t be in the same old routine I’ve been doing for years. Not to mention I’m counting down the days to when my own mumma arrives.
And yet, at that same time, I’m panicking a little because I have so much left to cover off at work before I head out the door. I’m supposed to be handing over to my assistant and it seems like an impossible task. How do you instruct someone all the ins and outs of how you do your job, how and why you’ve developed the processes you have, let alone pass along knowledge of how to develops the creatives that the job requires?
But when I was at antenatal class the week before last and we were practising putting on nappies and swaddling dolls I suddenly felt so desperate to hold our little girl for the first time and play with those little feet and hands that you can feel but can’t get to. It was such a strong yearning that it kind of shocked me.
Over the last few weeks I have definitely wished time to slow down because I know that all of a sudden I won’t be pregnant anymore, and I almost can’t remember what it feels like not to be pregnant or to have that special, invisible badge of honour that seems to come with it. I love being part of the pregnancy club. Plus I get feelings that I haven’t sung enough to her in the womb, or that I need to spend more time nurturing her in there.
But then I see a pic of my pre-pregnancy body and I think “heck yes, get my some of that please!”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit scared about what’s coming next. And I want more time to treasure feeling her moving around my tummy, and feeling that special feeling that you can only get from being a pregnant mumma.
But at the same time – it’ll be nice to be able to walk with speed to get somewhere. To get into the car, or bed, or up the driveway without feeling like some ancient elephant that is about to have a heart attack. It’d be nice to not feel like such a big frump. It’d be nice to see my bikini line. It’d be nice to remember that my legs weren’t always tree trunks and my ankles had quite good definition. It’d be really nice to feel asthough I actually am an attractive, fully operational human being and not just a carrier of a small life form.