The pointy end

It must be the daffodils. I'm sure of it. They being to bloom, signifying winter is more than half way over, her birthday is almost here, and it happens. I need to write.

I feel like if I put this blog post off any longer, it will never get written. Each and every night for many weeks on end, I have said to myself I will blog. I must blog. Because I've felt like I've needed to for quite some time now, especially since the epic brain-offload that was Angie's Right Where I am Project which left me stunned, moved and inspired to write more. But everything I have "written" since then has been constructed in my head around the hours of 2am and 3am, roughly between toilet visits two and three. And none of it ever seems to make it here. I have nothing really clear or concise to say, but I figure given so many have been reading here for so many years now, someone out there may care and may want to know where things are at in the land of Hope's Mama, prolific blog commenter, crap actual blogger.

Everything is coming to a bit of a head in my life. I am 35 weeks pregnant, plus change, and Hope's third birthday is just weeks away. I will be (if I'm still pregnant, that is) about 38 and a half weeks pregnant when the day rolls around. There are absolutely no plans to do anything this year as I simply have no idea about where I'll be, how I'll be and whether or not any of it will be physically possible. And that's worrying me, but there isn't much I can do. I'm starting to think that our idea to try and conceive all those months ago was pretty fucking stupid, knowing full well that if we were successful, the due date would fall in late August. I guess when I flip that switch to wanting another baby, there is no stopping me. Feeling blessed for my fertility but a wee bit insane that we didn't hold off that particular month.

And yet, Hope's birthday and how I'll survive it do seem to be the least of my worries right now. So one would naturally assume my biggest worry is my raging anxiety about getting this baby here, alive and well. And yet, that's not it either. I mean of course I'm worried and I'm scared and I'm not counting chickens or any of that, but I'm exhausted, and the monumental fatigue is clouding every other emotion in my life right now. This pregnancy has kicked my ass like no other, and I honestly don't know how to get through another day. I loved my pregnancy with Hope and despite going past term, never got to that completely "over it" stage. And the debilitating fear aside with Angus, I also loved it. It is such a magical time and I've always been so lucky to do it so easily.

But this time around, that hasn't been the case. I've had a cold with a lingering cough for five weeks now and I simply can't shake it (winter, I hate you). And there is nothing I can really safely take for it. Everything hurts. I'm achey. I'm desperately breathless, carrying another biggish baby who sure as hell hasn't dropped and obviously hasn't figured out where the exit is. I'm uncomfortable and on top of it all, I'm not getting much sleep to try and give my body the rest it needs. And every day, Angus the ever so adorable alarm clock pulls my hair, pokes my eyes and drags me out of bed (sometimes kicking and screaming) as he needs me to be his full time cereal spooner, cuddle giver, nappy changer, snot wiper, problem solver, banana peeler, book reader and block builder.

And yet, I know how very lucky I am and I am treasuring these final moments in our little family of "three" because I know no matter what, in a few weeks time we're all in for a huge shake up. I cannot imagine this little one joining us, yet I don't automatically assume that means he or she will die, either. I guess just as I was before Hope and Angus, I am absolutely clueless about the changes that are about to take place. I'm flying blind here and really just hoping for the best. What else can I do?

The physical brutality of this pregnancy is making me feel horribly guilty though. Because this is the first July since Hope died that I haven't felt as if I'm 110 per cent gearing up for her birthday. I am now of course gearing up for another BIRTHday as well. And I feel as if I should be more anxious about this one arriving. There are still no iron clad guarantees out there (and don't worry, I've searched for them) and there is still not a single soul on earth who can tell me if this one will escape my womb alive (and yes, I've searched for that person, too). Yet I haven't been in to the emergency department once in this pregnancy, I haven't really cried or lost my shit when visiting the obstetrician, I'm not freaked out 4000 times a day about movement, the doppler is now more of a once a week thing rather than a 10 times a day thing and I have more of a sense that things will work out just fine. And that to me, is a little unnerving. I'd grown so used to the anxiety with Angus and it was my norm. But it has shifted somewhat this time around, and I guess it is because I simply have less time to be. And just maybe, finally, I have realised that being anxious will change absolutely nothing. Either this baby will make it or it wont and I'm just the sucker who is along for the ride. I just have to see what our future holds in a few weeks time and somehow find a way to crawl to the finish line, with my adorable toddler always perched upon my back, sapping any last bits of energy I may have. He's good like that.

We've dusted off a few baby items in the last few days. Our place now actually looks like a house that may have a newborn living in it at any given moment. I'd put it off for long enough, but common sense told me these things had to get done. I did all of those things with Hope and she died. I did all of those things with Angus and he lived. Figure it doesn't make much difference. There are bags of clothes, blankets and nappies out and waiting to be washed. The swing is set up again our lounge room, the basinette in our bedroom. I haven't packed a hospital bag, made a firm plan of what will happen with Angus for when the day rolls around and we still don't really have names picked out. But that's all ok, there is time for that and they will of course get done.

I'm hanging in there and mostly, I'm ok (though having a full time chef, nanny, masseur and cleaner wouldn't go astray right now). So if I don't get a chance to update before "it" all happens, it being both of the birthdays that August will bring, then I'll see you all on the other side. Hopefully with good news to share and a birth experience that turns our experience with Hope three Augusts ago completely on it's head. And of course, I hope I emerge from Hope's big day not too bruised and battered, either. It has been three long bloody years after all. I'm getting used to this new, shitty, normal now. I'm angry and I still miss her, but there aint a god damn thing I can do about it.

And I'll also leave you with some bump shots a photographer friend took for us a few weeks back (and one of them will give you a very good idea about how keen Angus is on all of this!) I so can't believe I'm doing this again. Call me crazy. And wish me luck.