Thursday, May 19, 2016
I am officially counting down.
As my temper rages, and my pregnancy hormones hijack my rational thoughts, I am counting down to maternity leave. I have 12 more commutable journeys in, and 12 more out. I have just over 3 weeks left at work.
Three weeks feels like a fucking lifetime, thus I've broken it down into actual commutes and taken out the weekends.
I'm not even going to try and explain why commuting on a tube packed full of aggressive Londoners that bash my bump is the tenth level of Hell, just believe me when I say it is.
Everyday there is something else with our house. A new obstacle to overcome, or a new piece of paperwork we have to get someone to sign, or the mortgage broker wants to see something else, or something. My husband has taken on the brunt of all the to'ing and fro'ing in the hope to save me from having a complete meltdown, but things are slowly progressing.
In our six house chain.
And I have taken to Pintrest with a vengeance, feverishly pinning everything from modular kitchens to Farrow & Balled Welsh dressers to children's bedrooms.
I simply can't help myself at this point. I'm desperate to nest, so I'm doing it virtually. I'm also filling up my eBay watch list with reclaimed dining room tables and vintage French mirrors.
Then, on the other side of my brain, I'm thinking about far less shallow things. I'm 31 weeks this week. I thought I'd be more anxious this far into my pregnancy, but I'm actually surprisingly chilled. It helps that my hospital has me on a Code Red list, where I am booked in for a check-up or scan or test every two or so weeks at the moment.
But I am also so very aware of her movements. I wait for certain times of the day when she kicks and take huge gratitude when she does. I just want to feel lots and lots of kicking. The Brit is also anxious and constantly asks me, "Have you felt her kicking today? When last did she kick?"
Molly stopped growing at around 32-33 weeks, and this sticks in my mind. I want to know the measurements, I want to know that she is growing, and I want to know that everything is on course. I will be vigilant and watching.
We have mostly settled on her names (her first and middle ones - for a long time we didn't know which to put first, and I am 99% certain...), and I am so so excited to meet her. Terrified for the c-section (if that does happen) and sad that Sebby's little world is going to crumble for a while, but I am looking forward to feeling more complete than I have for a while, knowing that my daughter is safe in my arms.
I keep saying her name out loud; and her second name. Over and over again. It's so different from my first pregnancy when I didn't even know the sexes of my twins. This time I've made so much more meaningful, knowing she is a girl and therefore knowing her name. Whether this is a good idea or not, I can't help myself.
I hope my brain remembers how to do everything newborn. I have not quite mentally prepared myself, as I haven't thought too deeply about the reality of it. The reality is: it's shit. The first few months are incredibly hard. The sleep deprivation, the routine, the endless and constant throng of feeds, latching on, nappies, rocking to sleep.
I'm knackered as fuck now, so I can't imagine what it's going to be like when she actually arrives. I'm just going to try and roll with it. Whatever it brings.
I feel so unprepared. I'm really solely relying on subconscious memory to kick in for this one.