Heaven knows I'm miserable now

It’s safe to say I am thoroughly bloody miserable.

Not only is this baby now nine days overdue but I am throwing up everything again for the second time this week and feel like utter shit.

I’m guessing it’s down to the hormones but I am so fed up I just want this baby out now.

Tuesday’s vomiting episode led to a fever and a trip to the hospital on Wednesday after my blood pressure shot up and we thought I had pre-eclampsia again.

Fortunately, everything settled down and I came back home but after two failed sweeps and the pressure of induction looming over me I am feeling pretty pissed off.

The problem with induction is because I had a caesarean with Arlo, I can’t have a pessary (synthetic prostaglandins which help to ripen the cervix) due to the risk of scar rupture, and so they only way they can induce me is by breaking my waters and then they may put me on a syntocinon drip if my uterus decides it doesn’t want to contract.

But, if they can’t break my waters they will want me to have a caesarean, and the thought of being pumped full of synthetic hormones to make my womb contract fills me with dread.

So far I have refused induction but if I get to 42 weeks on Thursday I know I will get statistics about the risk of still birth hurled at me by the doctors.

The last month of pregnancy has been really bloody hard and I can’t say I’ve enjoyed it all that much.

At 36 weeks Arlo gave me a stomach bug which resulted in me chucking my guts up into a bucket of wallpaper paste, while on my hands and knees, in our bedroom, while Arlo stood next to me shouting: “Mummy be sick. Mummy be sick.”

We live in a tiny Victorian terraced house and our bathroom is a 1960s extension built on to the back of the house downstairs, so I had no choice but to find the nearest receptacle to chuck up in as I couldn’t leave Arlo on his own upstairs while Johnny was having a shower before work.

My feet have been swollen since 36 weeks and my right foot throbs constantly. I can’t get my shoes on without help and walking is painful.

I stopped driving once I got to 40 weeks pregnant as it became too uncomfortable so that limits what we can do at the moment and poor Johnny and Arlo are having to put up with the grumpiest woman in the world at the moment.

I know I must sound ungrateful for what I have. I am not. I know how lucky I am to be having another baby and that when she comes it will be an amazing day. But being heavily pregnant is really fucking hard and at the moment it feels like it will never end.

Passing due dates and mother's guilt

Mother’s guilt is a terrible thing.

It strikes when you least expect it and makes you feel awful, usually for situations which are beyond your control.

I have been having full on attacks of it this week when it comes to Arlo.

I am worried about being in hospital and away from him when baby’s born but more than anything I feel bad about not being able to do what I normally would with him while I am heavily pregnant.

Today is my due date. I have reached that magic number of 40 weeks pregnant but this baby is showing no signs of making an entrance into the world any time soon.

I am shattered, I am uncomfortable, I get out of breath walking up and down the stairs, I waddle when I walk and I feel like I have a bowling ball in between my legs.

None of this is conducive to running around after a toddler.

In the last week I have found getting around more difficult, uncomfortable and at times painful as my pelvis feels like it’s splitting in half.

Fortunately, Arlo is at nursery on Monday and Tuesday and Johnny is at home on a Wednesday which means I don’t have to move around too much. But trying to fill our time on a Thursday and Friday is becoming more of a challenge.

I feel terrible keeping him in when the weather’s so nice but a walk to the park and then lifting him in and out of things is not doable at the moment. I also can’t chase after him if he runs off.

This morning my lovely mother-in-law came to the rescue and entertained him at home for an hour before taking him to the park where he picked me daisies and then put them in my pocket when he got home.

Tomorrow, Johnny is working from home so there will be help there if I need it.

But I am finding it incredibly frustrating not being able to do the things I normally would and although I know Arlo’s fine and happy, it doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty about it.

My mental, raging hormones aren’t helping matters either. In the past week I’ve gone from not wanting to get out of bed, to crying, to snappy, and then back to feeling my usual self.

I know this is all completely normal but I am so tired that I just want this baby out now.

Arlo was already nine days old by the time I reached 40 weeks in my first pregnancy and I had kind of set that as a milestone for this baby’s birth.

Now I am into the unknown and part of me is absolutely terrified about what comes next.

I just have to keep everything crossed (apart from my legs) in the hope that she arrives before next Tuesday when I am booked in to see the midwife and the subject of medical intervention is likely to be top of the agenda.

Twelve days and counting......

There are 12 days to go until my due date.

Although if our daughter arrives when her big brother did then I could be having a baby on Tuesday.

I have written my birth plan (although my midwife keeps telling me to call it a wish list) but I’m yet to pack my hospital bag, or a bag for Arlo, and I really don’t feel like I’m prepared for this one’s arrival at all.

What happened to me when Arlo was born has also been playing on my mind a lot.

A couple of weeks ago I had a huge wobble and sobbed all over Johnny telling him how frightened I was of going through the same thing again, and that I was terrified that I might die leaving him and my children behind.

Johnny just held me and told me that he would be with me every step of the way and that he would not leave my side. He is one of the most incredible people I have ever met and I am so lucky to have him as my husband and the father of my children.

The rational part of my brain knows I can’t let feelings like that overwhelm me, but it still niggles away at times.

I’m planning on a vbac (vaginal birth after caesarean) this time round as I really don’t want to have another section, although I know there’s a 25% chance it could happen.

Fortunately, I have remained healthy so far and I’m continuing to have weekly check-ups with the midwife.

I had a bit of a scare over the Easter weekend when my feet and legs swelled up as this was one of the first signs that something was wrong last time. But after taking myself to hospital and being tested for everything I was given the all clear.

Two weeks on I still have massive sausage feet and my shoes are proving difficult to get on but I know as soon as the baby’s born they’ll return to their normal size.

I’ve also been reflecting on how having a new baby around will affect my relationship with Arlo.

I’ve never spent more than one night away from him at a time so the thought of being in hospital for several days after having this one really worries me.

I love my beautiful boy more than I ever thought it was humanly possible to love another person.

This tiny, mewling baby is placed in your arms and even though you know that you will love them, you don’t know them. It’s like bringing a stranger home with you who cannot do anything for themself.

You are entirely responsible for them, you are exhausted from the birth and you have absolutely no idea whether what you are doing is right or wrong.

You don’t sleep, you barely have time to eat or look after yourself and half the time you don’t even get the chance to brush your teeth or even move off the sofa during those first few shell-shocked weeks.

But one day, you look at your tiny little baby and you realise that you have fallen totally and utterly in love with them, and that you would die for them.

Arlo has grown into a kind, caring, mischievous, lovely little boy. I look at him sometimes and still can’t believe he’s half of Johnny and half of me; that we made this amazing little person. I know Johnny feels exactly the same way.

And now another baby is imminent and I have no idea how I could possibly feel that way about two children. But I know that I will.

Feeling big, but not so beautiful

There is no doubt about it, I am enormous.

At 33 weeks pregnant I am pretty much the same size I was when I gave birth to Arlo at gone 38 weeks.

An estimate at a growth scan last week put her (it’s a girl, curiosity got the better of me) at 4lbs 9oz - with a big head and big stomach - which is both great and terrifying in equal measure.

Great because she is growing well, but terrifying because her brother only weighed 5lbs 15oz when he was born and I wasn’t expecting to carry such a big baby.

People keep telling me I look like I am about to drop or that I must be carrying twins.

The night before Arlo was born

It’s got to the point where as soon as I see them looking at my swollen belly I get in there first and say: “Yes, I know, I’m huge.”

The knock-on effect of this is that I am absolutely shattered and I am struggling to get around.

My pelvis seems to have taken the brunt over the past three or four weeks.

Walking is painful and driving isn’t great either but with a two-year-old to look after it is pretty much impossible to not do any of these things when he is around.

Couple that with having to lift him in and out of his cot, or the bath, or being clambered all over for a cuddle (which is of course lovely), pushing his buggy up one of the steepest hills in Brighton to get home, or taking him to the park, the only time I get to rest is when he goes to bed.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being pregnant, but I had forgotten what a toll it can take on your body during the latter stages.

Thankfully, I only have one week left at work and my boss has been great with taking me off jobs which involve lifting heavy equipment or driving a long way.

Me at 33 weeks pregnant this time round

Other than that we are totally unprepared for this one’s arrival.

Johnny has grand designs on our bathroom which he was planning on ripping out three weeks before my due date.

After much worrying on my part I managed to persuade him to bring it forward a couple of weeks.

Our bathroom is grim and it is the only room we have done nothing with since moving into our house just over a year ago.

The people who sold us our house painted the place from top to bottom with a standard magnolia paint before putting it on the market.

But the stuff they used in the bathroom isn’t waterproof so not only has it run down the walls revealing the poster paint blue colour the bathroom once was, it is also flaking off everywhere.

We are staying with my in-laws while Johnny and his dad wreck the place before putting it back together.

Once we’re back in I’ll be washing tiny vests and babygros which have been packed away for the past two years, waiting for this tiny person who will be living in them.

As for the birth and how a new person will change the dynamic of our family; both have been weighing heavily on my mind as my due date approaches.

But I’ll save that for the next blog.