And I’m not even an official parent yet.
I’ve been a bit quiet recently, and I don’t really know why, writers block perhaps, or maybe that I feel a bit of pressure (that I’ve put on myself), to write weekly witty prose about the realities of pregnancy and other related issues, but to be honest, the past week, I’ve not felt very witty, or profound. I’m tired. I’m really, really tired, that’s for one thing. At 31 and half weeks pregnant, I’m now what I believe to be the ‘uncomfortable’ stage. I’m big. And it’s warm. And I’m scared because I’m going to be a mum soon and quite frankly I feel like I need adult supervision most of the time so I’m second guessing myself.
I desperately want to go on Maternity Leave, which I think is forever imprinted on my face with the ‘GO ON WITHOUT ME’ look I seem to be sporting Monday – Friday, coupled with my colleagues continually commenting on how tired I look, and I think, Sod it, I’m just going to go on leave now, I can’t do this any-more and then I flash forward a year and see myself crying my heart out because I have to go back to work and leave my baby with god-knows-who knowing that if I wasn’t such a lazy cow and had started maternity leave later I could have had another 3-4 weeks with her.
I feel like I’m going to cry most of the time. Hormones really are wonderful things. I feel so utterly unprepared. The nursery is a mess, and for ages I was all like, ‘nah I have loads of time’ and now I’m not convinced that I do actually have loads of time. I feel like I simultaneously have too many and too few baby clothes, and I’m worried that she’ll be too big to wear the sleep-suit I bought her to wear home, so much so that I’m considering buying it in a bigger size (emphasising on the important things as always, I know it doesn’t bloody matter what she wears home as long as she comes home, but for some stupid reason I can’t get it out of my head), I’m worried that I’m not going to be able to breastfeed. I just spent half an hour Googling ‘flat nipples’ while I should have been working, I look at the state of my kitchen and I wonder how I’m ever going to be able to keep it clean enough with a baby in tow. I was awake worrying about the sash window in our bedroom, and how it only opens from the bottom and envisioning a little careening themselves out of the window, I’m awake half the night, and the past 3 nights I’ve ended up asleep on our old mattress that is lying in the nursery because I can’t get comfortable, or when I do, I snore like a freight train and wake Tom up so feel guilty and then sleep really lightly and start thinking about plug sockets, stair-gates and sash windows and accidentally killing my child.
Then there’s the movement thing. which is fun. Tom is from a medical background, and I would say I’m fairly level headed, so I don’t tend to panic, but on Monday JB had been significantly quieter than usual, so we went to the hospital to get checked. Everything was fine naturally, but it was a bit scary, I’m so attached to this little thing that the idea of anything at all going wrong, no matter how statistically unlikely it is would quite literally wreck my world, and the thought that if it did that it would be my fault, or there would have been something I could have done to stop it is just…. AGH. Nope.
On top of this, I feel like I’m losing my friends. It’s probably my fault. Perhaps they think I’m now running around with other mummies, or I’m not interested in them, but that’s not true. I haven’t had a personality transplant, or at least I don’t think I have. I’m a bigger, slower, less intoxicated version of myself, sure, but I’m still me. I don’t actually want to talk about being pregnant all the time, but it seems to be the only thing that gets brought up, I’d actually quite like to hear about that new job, that holiday they went on, their business, you know the normal stuff we spoke about before I got up the duff. And when the baby is here, I’m also going to want to talk about those things, and let’s face it, I’m going to be hilarious on that first night that I go out and I get drunk on half a glass of wine. Although, I’ve probably been rubbish as well, as I’ve been so knackered and haven’t been the best at staying in touch. It takes two I guess. They do say that being a new mum is pretty lonely don’t they, so I guess it’s just practice.
I’m worried I’m not going to pass my driving test, I’m due to take my test in a month, and I’m scared I won’t pass it and then I won’t be able to take it again before JB turns up.
I’m worried that my baby won’t have the same relationship with my mum as I did with my grandma because we don’t live round the corner and can’t pop round for tea and that just about breaks my heart even though it was my decision to live so far away. I have also been missing my grandma dreadfully recently.
I’m worried that once I stop earning and go down to statutory maternity pay that we won’t be able to survive and I’ll have to go back to work early.
I know parenthood is absolutely riddled with worry. I also know that will never change and I’m going to worry about something relating to my child every day for the rest of my life, but I guess it’s all got on top of me recently.
And then I read this all back and I struggle to not hashtag each paragraph with ‘firstworldproblems’, however, this has been rather cathartic, so thanks if you read it. I’ll try to think of something far more exciting to write about next time. I’m going to try and do a little craft post soon, I want to make a mobile for JBs room, and raided Hobbycraft last weekend, so stay tuned for that at some point over the next few weeks!