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.