Pregnancy diary | Full term and counting

pregnancy 38 weeks

When a cat is about to give birth she will often sneak away and hide somewhere. Preferably somewhere warm, soft, and quiet.

I entirely sympathise.

I’m 38 weeks pregnant this week, and all I want to do is build a warm, quiet nest somewhere far away from real people, furnish it with chocolate biscuits and Netflix, and go to ground. There I could nurse my aching pelvis in peace, bingeing on GLOW and avoiding further comment on how much longer I have to go, or whether the bump has dropped, or if we have any names yet.

As exciting as it is to be mere weeks (or days!) away from meeting our little bub, this final stage is the most challenging by far. I can only imagine this is how those London Marathon runners feel when their legs start to give out with yards to go until the finish line! My body is screaming at me to just stop, to lie down in the middle of the road and wait for the paramedics to come running over with the foil blanket. But we’re not there yet, and I’m too close to quit now.

(And too excited by the prospect of the trophy at the end of the race. A big glass of red wine and a platter of forbidden cheeses. And sure, a cuddle with my baby would be nice too.)

This caper all began with an overwhelming urge that there should be three of us. Now I want to hold my son and introduce him to his daddy, see his squished little face for the first time, and see for myself the tiny feet that have been playing mayhem under my ribs all this time.

But I’m also looking forward to few selfish pleasures too. I want to sleep on my front again. I want to go rock climbing again, to sit on our sofa without my pelvis screaming at me. And I would really, really like to make it through a day without randomly crying at something unimportant! The hormones are strong with this one, and the silliest things can set them off, from a cute cat on TV to getting new carpets fitted. As if having a baby wasn’t overwhelming enough, apparently I can’t handle simple tasks or conversations without welling up.

With all of this spinning around in my brain, I’m actually finding the prospect of going into labour quite exciting. I don’t expect it to be comfortable, and I fully expect to holler and howl with the best of them. But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. My body has done a good job of getting me and the little guy this far, and I trust it to see us through.

Onwards to the finish line! Mama needs a big glass of wine and some baby snuggles.

What do you think?