Eat all the dates and drink all the raspberry leaf tea whilst lunging sideways on a kerb.

Blowing the dust off this blog. I figure it may be a good outlet for me to process the new feelings and experiences that come with growing a human being. Or if anything, it will be amusing to look back on later.

“How many months are you now?” Asks another patient or colleague. Do I round it up or down to the month or do I speak in weeks? Are non-preggo people prepared to do the maths? Do they know how many weeks full term is? Is it 40? Is it less? Can’t say that I knew before all this, so I just give some vague response. Not like babies are known for their punctuality anyway, right?

One patient said to me the other day, “Oh, you are pregnant! Congratulations! I just thought you were fat!” Thanks, I think.

People ask me how I’m feeling, they ask if I’m excited and they tell me how great it’s going to be. I feel guilty that I don’t exactly share this enthusiasm. Is this a flag that I’m going to struggle when Blob makes an appearance? Or does it just mean that I have insight into the challenges of early parenthood? I have some very honest friends, so I’ve not been shielded from stories about both mother and child having emotional meltdowns, reflux and micro-naps vs. long blinks.

Don’t get me wrong. I do look forward to meeting this tiny person that we’ve created. I hadn’t realised the extent to which I wanted this until we had a miscarriage late last year. I surprised myself with the level of grief that I felt, particularly as someone who doesn’t tend to dwell on feelings and what-ifs. I tried to rationalise it to myself. Oh, it’s probably just the hormone crash making me feel all emotional. It was only early days so it was barely just a lump of cells, I told myself.

We called her Lump, ironically so we wouldn’t get too attached. She was a girl, I’d decided in retrospect with absolutely no logical reasoning. I’d allowed myself to wonder what her personality would be like. I’d humoured myself with the thought of her dad entertaining her with his antics. By the time we were told that there was no longer a heartbeat, it was too late to detach from these hopes.

I remember when the sonographer stopped the chitchat and furrowed her brow for a little too long. She didn’t turn the screen toward me like the time before. Still, I didn’t think anything of it until she told us. I remember her being so lovely about it, but I don’t really recall what was said other than that she didn’t want us walking out thinking everything was fine when it was not. My vision blurred and I cried all the way home and then for several weeks after that.

Since then, I’ve been more acutely aware of how delicate early pregnancy days can be. A couple of good friends also had similar experiences and I’ve heard about friends of friends having losses since. Statistically, it’s not uncommon, really. I suppose I was just oblivious because it wasn’t something I understood on a personal level. Oddly, I find that talking about it has helped with my healing and I hope that it encourages other people to not feel like it’s something to keep hush hush about.

The ugly crying gradually tapered off and now I am mostly not so traumatised. I’ve made some observations about my own behaviour as this pregnancy progressed that may suggest otherwise though. I was reluctant to make any purchases until the third trimester, saying that there was plenty of time and I didn’t want to buy unnecessary stuff. Which is not untrue but I reckon it was partly a protective mechanism in case things didn’t work out again. That, and I had a meltdown one day when I had (query) Covid and couldn’t feel movement so off we went to the maternity unit despite being overseas at the time. How dramatic.

I’m pretty chilled now, I reckon it’s a very conscious chill to keep myself from slipping into overthinking and catastrophising. Apparently I have at least 18 years of that ahead of me yet. Is it chill to repeatedly tell oneself to chill? Probably not.

I feel like I should turn this reflection around and end it on a positive note. Today and yesterday I didn’t have horrific reflux for the first time in months and it was glorious. I refuse to think about why there may be reduced pressure on my stomach. CHILL OUT, ME.

Readiness: 4.5/10