I have a few friends who are pregnant at similar stages – trimester three. There is no question about my happiness for them, how I hope everything goes smoothly and how I share their anxieties until the baby is here. I care as much about these women as if they were my blood.
I want to say that I know my pregnant friends will read this post and they should know that it isn’t really about them. Please don’t feel weird or any different around me. I am excited for you and I cannot wait to meet your baby and share the magical time a newborn will bring you.
I love hearing their journeys, new ailments and am all too happy to give them an ear as they discuss some downsides they are physically experiencing – pregnancy is hard and can get even harder towards the end so I get that.
I see them in the flesh and feel their bumps and can honestly say this is exciting for me, not upsetting. I comment on Facebook photos and tell them how great they look because often they feel far from it – but it’s true. I believe that a woman is at her most beautiful when she has her precious cargo on board.
What did get to me, recently, was when I read comments from other people (friends and family of the expectant mum) about their own excitement for when the baby will be here. Talk of little toes and fingers and tiny cuddles made me tearful. I wasn’t sure why because I am equally excited to meet that little baby but maybe there is a part of me that feels sad that I will not receive that level of excitement about Yogi. I will never talk about her pudgy arms, thick hair or new baby smell…
After sitting on some confusing feelings for a week or two I discussed it with Hubby and came to the conclusion that my saddness is about the fact I will not be getting to the same stage as my friends – more so that people will not be getting excited about Yogi. There will be no playful arguing of who gets the first hold, questions about whether she will have red hair like her brother or if she will come early or late.
The excitement has stopped dead in it’s tracks because there is nothing to be excited about anymore. In an instant everything changed and it will never be the same again. I can’t see myself falling pregnant again and part of me can’t help but think “what’s the point? I’m just going to lose it“. I don’t think I will feel anything but fear should it happen again.
Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel, admit defeat and be eternally thankful that I can hold Little Man in my arms – something I still plan to do even when he is a grown man and towers above me.
Until next time,