This isn’t going to be an easy post to write (or to read, I’m guessing). I say that because I don’t quite know how I feel and I’m completely lacking the words to even begin to describe the bits of myself that I do understand.
I’ll just get on with it. I apologise in advance for how confusing this is going to be…
I’m 27 weeks pregnant today with only 13 weeks left until my due date. That means that in 9-15 weeks time our baby will be in the world.
We will be parents.
I will be a mother.
LIFE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME…
…and you know what?…I can’t get my head around the fact that it is happening.
I mean, I KNOW that I am pregnant (I’ve gained 48lbs and have the most impressive 6 month bump) and I KNOW there’s a baby in there (I can feel – and love – the kicks and the hiccups and the stretches)…but I just can’t get my head around HOW there can be a baby in there (physically I mean…I’m 33, I do not need the birds and the bees explaining to me).
I look in the mirror and a pregnant woman looks back at me, but I (mostly) don’t feel any different, and I just cannot begin to comprehend that in three months our baby (OUR baby…a baby that is OURS) will be a part of the real world, part of our lives.
I can’t imagine how a baby could even fit inside me, despite all the extra weight/inches. I know that my bump is more than big enough to accommodate a 27 week fetus (hell, it’s more than big enough to hold twins), but I’m almost utterly convinced that it’s all fat and guts and there can’t be any spare room for babies in there. I can’t picture it. Right now I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed typing and I can feel kicks right down at the base of my belly, but are they kicks or punches?…or are they hiccups? Is the baby head up, head down or transverse? Is it back to front or back to back? For that matter, how can there be a baby in there at all? (I may have said that already…)
I don’t really know how else to explain it without just repeating myself over and over again. I don’t get it. I don’t get it. I. Do. Not. Get. It.
I’ve almost managed to convince myself that our baby is in some other dimension and I’m actually just growing a portal to this alternate dimension inside my uterus. Yes, I know I’m strange.
It’s been surreal right from the very beginning. When I first found out I was pregnant I convinced myself that it would all feel real after the first scan, and it did….for a while. I had been worried that I was imagining it all, but I saw our little one bouncing about on the screen and I cried with a mixture of joy and shock. That “OHMYGODITSREAL” feeling wore off though and soon I was telling myself that feeling the kicks, or having our 20 week scan, or knowing the gender of our child would help me to get my head around it.
I guess I thought that I’d feel different once I was “with child”…that something in my brain would change. I suppose it’s a bit like when you’re a kid and you look at adults as if they’re different. You expect to feel like an adult once you get past your teens, and then you get to your twenties (and then your thirties) and you still feel like the same person, just a bit more tired because now you have to look after yourself and all that shenanigans.
When my cousins and friends have had children I’ve always imagined that they’re different to me, but now I’m beginning to suspect that they’re exactly the same as they were before, just even MORE tired because now they never sleep and they have to look after themselves AND a baby…and all that shenanigans.
Luke gets it. He can visualise the baby, he gets the reality of the whole “we’re going to be parents” thing, and I think he finds it a bit odd that I don’t, especially considering it’s happening in my body. He has to put up with me saying things like “we’re having a baby” and “it’s really real, isn’t it” at least a couple of times each day. Sometimes I’m in awe and I want to share that with him. Sometimes I’m struggling to believe it and I’m looking to him for reassurance. Thankfully, he always knows what to say.
…but aside from all this, even though I have all these weird thoughts and panics, I still can’t wait for our little one to be here. I can’t wait to have a baby in our lives. OUR baby. I live for the kicks and I lie down at every available opportunity, and not because I’m fat, tired and lazy (although I am), but to see and feel those little feet and fists battering away. I cradle my belly ALL THE TIME in the hope that I’ll feel a little elbow or knee slide past my hands. I might not be able to believe there’s a baby in there, but I absolutely can’t get enough of all the little movements that this impossible baby makes.
I think the weirdest bit of it, the part that makes me so disbelieving of it all is that I’m not scared and I’m not panicking when I feel like I should be. I mean, I am, but I’m mostly scared that I’m not scared, panicking that I’m not panicking…if that makes any sense at all?
Surely I should be scared of labour? Surely I should be worried about how we’ll cope? Surely I should be dreading never EVER sleeping again, of feeling like a milking machine, of having SO much responsibility for a teeny tiny little human? Surely I shouldn’t feel so normal and so capable?
I’m finishing this post feeling much the same as I did when I started it. Confused. If you’re reading this you might feel confused too. Or maybe you get exactly how I feel.