I'm currently pregnant with my last child. Even writing that seems strange and sad but very welcome all at the same time.
It goes without saying, I'm lucky and grateful to be pregnant again, to be experiencing the joys of a growing person kicking and wriggling around inside me. This time round, I get to share some of that excitement with my four year old, who gently stroked my bump, tickles my tummy button, and asks if 'baby brother likes that'
My first pregnancy was full of anxiety, nerves and a fair few complications, oh and a heatwave!...which made it difficult to enjoy. When I was pregnant again with my first son only 9 through 18 months old, I felt tired a lot of the time and despite trying to enjoy it, felt huge relief when it was over.
In between my second and third I've looked enviously at friends and strangers on the street who are growing a life inside them, wanting to be in the club again, wanting to feel the power of creating life, the attention of those you meet treating you just that little bit specially because of your growing tummy, to share a knowing look with any other pregnant mummies you pass.
But this time round I've struggled with all the same emotions and physical pains of the last two, whilst also pressuring myself to enjoy the experience before it ends. I can't imagine going the rest of my life never having this experience again, never feeling your tummy bounce with a baby's kick, or anticipating a baby's birth. I am trying with all my might to absorb the feeling of every kick, or every wriggle and of every morning waking up and knowing I am physically closer to my baby than I will ever be again.
Don't get me wrong, I do not adore being pregnant. In fact, if my husband is reading this now I know he would be raising his eyebrows in surprise as most of his evenings are currently spent listening to me moan about feeling sick, being unable to find a comfortable position on the sofa, and how jealous I am of him eating chocolate buttons again (gestational diabetes for me). I find the experience of being pregnant anxiety-inducing - not only with concern for my unborn baby, but for myself and my birth and postnatal period, and for my family as it is now. I worry about how we will cope with three children, how my boys will adapt to another baby in the house, and how many unknowns there will be in our lives for the next few years.
I am trying my utmost to put these worries aside and to focus on the miracle that is going on inside me, that even as I work, cook, sleep and do my Christmas shopping, my body is quietly, independently and successfully growing a little boy to join our family. Fingers, toes, organs, skin, teeth buds and hair, a little personality, all being created inside me without so much as a thought. I am trying to bottle the excitement and fluttering inside at the thought that one day soon, I will meet this baby I have created, who is wanted so much by us as parents, his two brothers, and his extended family.
When I finally sit down in the evening or crawl into bed at night, he leaps about with delight as if to say, finally mummy, now I can get this party started. I am trying my best to cherish those moments and to wonder in what my body is doing, before this chapter of my life closes forever and I am caught up in the next.
And that's the thing about parenting. Each phase feels like forever and is over before you know it. At every stage you mourn the last and fear the next. You want them to grow and make your life easier, but you can't bear to think of them needing you less. All we can do is take a breath, try to bottle the positives we are currently enjoying and take another step forward.
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