Week 39. So so tired. All I want to do during the day is nap. Then I spend my nights too uncomfortable to sleep for more than an hour at a time. If it’s not Boo pummelling my innards, it’s my bladder deciding it’s reached full capacity (again), or the muscles in my thighs starting to spasm at carrying all the weight for too long. There’s been some respite from the heat, though the humidity still remains.
As a result we are doing very very little with our days. I’m either asking the Rascal to assist with the piles of housework, or telling him I’m too tired to go out and do anything. “I want to go have an adventure!”, he announced this morning. It was hard not to feel guilty when I asked him what having an adventure would entail. “We can go to Lidl and do a shop”, he responded. When this is the potential highlight of his week it does feel like maybe I should be managing a little more when it comes to his social activities. Must do better.
I dutifully drag out the painting supplies and he merrily paints away for over an hour with constant requests for fresh water. That wasn’t so bad. Then after I’ve finished cleaning up the resulting mess he wanders back in to thank me profusely for giving him some painting to do because it was so much fun. Leaving me thinking what a great kid he is. Then half an hour later he suddenly flips to psycho mode and rants and raves for almost 2 hours because he wants me to go away, to stay, to help him be happy, to undo the past. To be upstairs in the bedroom. To be downstairs. To walk up and down the stairs multiple times according to his every whim which is totally not going to happen. Life with a 3 year old. Some parts of the day you’re winning, other parts of the day you’re definitely losing.
We’re hobbling towards the end of this pregnancy now. The midwife has given us the whole “what to do if it’s a precipitous labour” speech (basically call her, do nothing, grab some towels and wait for nature to sort it all out without interference). I also got the heads up on exactly what the post-birth checkup involves. I was torn between feeling horrified at the thought of an invasive examination directly after giving birth, and the thought that this is what happened the last time unknown to me between the lack of information given and the epidural that masked what was going on while we looked in awe at what my body had just produced. “Are you excited that the birth is getting so close now?”, she finished up. Err. Yeah. Maybe. Ask me after it’s all done.
Meanwhile the labour/birth/baby supplies have been stocked up ready to go. We finally put together the cot. The only thing left to do is figure out exactly how we’re going to attach it to our bed safely and securely. We expect to do this with the aid of pool noodles, some rolled up towels, bungee cords and some sheets. I’m sure it’ll magically work out at the last minute…
The Rascal has, with wisdom beyond his years, decided that he no longer wants to be pregnant. It’s just too much hassle. So that baby he’s been patiently growing in his tummy alongside me? Yeah, that’s gone. He’ll just jump straight to looking after his good-as-gold baby Peter doll now. I wish I had that option. But no, it looks like I’ll be waddling along for a bit longer with my pelvis creaking, the aching skin taut on my bump, and constant warning twinges of imminent failure in my back. Didn’t quite make it to 40 weeks last time before the hospital intervened. Boo is giving no hint as to what the plan is this time. Back to waiting and seeing. And naps. Naps are good, but in scarce supply with the Rascal on my case.