When I wrote my first pregnancy post at twenty-one weeks, the third trimester seemed worlds away. A strange foreign land of distant aches and pains, reduced mobility, and increased anxiety about Becoming A Parent.
I’m certain I only wrote that post a week ago, but somehow I am now almost thirty three weeks pregnant. Squarely in third trimester territory and on to the home stretch. Every day I can feel our little one moving around in his shrinking world, wriggling his knees into a more comfy position, or stretching out a tiny hand. These movements are both beautiful and terrifying. We’ve discovered that he prefers Bon Scott era AC/DC, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. And he has already earned himself the nickname, one of many, of midnight party baby. Because obviously the dead of night is the right time for somersaults.
Oh little one, your world, my world, and your father’s, is about to become so much bigger. We are aching to meet you, but I’d be lying if I said that we’re not terrified by how you will Change Everything. The human race has been having babies for millennia, so why do you feel so exceptional?
Over the past weeks the increasingly rapid changes to my body have left me feeling completely exhausted, and a bit overwhelmed. If the second trimester was defined by energy and excitement and warm fuzzy bump feelings, not to mention the marvel that is being on maternity leave, trimester three has announced itself with some big emotional ups and downs. Coupled with feeling completely enormous, and a slight tendency to waddle. Every twinge or ache is a daily reminder to move a little slower, to be a bit more gentle with myself, and if my body is crying out for a quiet duvet day with (decaf) coffee and my Kindle then so be it.
The early weeks of pregnancy are interminable. You wait and wait for the all clear from that first scan, walking a fine line between overwhelming excitement and crippling anxiety. But now the weeks are ticking down so fast, the finish line is in sight and it’s almost time to meet our baby. I’m yearning to see his little face, to finally know what his name is, and find out whether he has his Daddy’s beautiful dark hair. And to finally snuggle the little feet that have been making their presence felt so strongly.
(Baby Stitch is definitely a boy by the way. Well, 95% certain to be. I may not be a sonographer, but even I can recognise tiny man parts on an ultrasound scan. Both Chris and I pointed at the screen and said in unison “tiny plums!”. I’m sorry baby, I’m afraid your parents have a very immature sense of humour.)
I’m certainly very afraid of his frailty, of his dependence, the uncertainty he will bring with him, and how he will change us. But what is certain is that we have made a pact with this little spark, a pledge to be his parents, his family, and his team. Now we have to make good on that promise.
So I suppose when you put it like that, a few emotional ups and downs are inevitable!