We left the flat for a walk forty minutes ago. When we left it was sunny. When we reached the bottom of the hill – it’s a big ass 15 minute down hill – it was raining. Five minutes later, having paused under siding waiting to see if it passed, the rain had turned into thunder, and as we’d watched the taxi I’d contemplated jumping into crash into the barrier, we were on our way home; walking up that big ass old hill which now had unleashed flood gates from the top of its peak meaning our ‘walk’ home was a paddle. Thanks goodness for pram roofs, ‘cos at least M was dry!
So now that I’m home, and the adventure has obviously tired out my “too-big-for-naps” toddler out rendering him fast asleep on my bed, leaving me to warm up with coffee and feel the tumy-tightenings which come from every walk up big ass hills, I may as well record some more of this pregnancy – we’re 30 weeks in already, somehow!
I’ve written before how this pregnancy is so much easier than the journey was with M. There are no migraines, less nausea and more energy, thank you God. And it still is much easier, though the past week or two there’ve been warnings to slow down, take it easier perhaps. Blood pressure dropping low enough to make me faint, backache so piercing I’ve had to put down my son, sudden tiredness in the middle of the day – normal symptoms, I guess, and still light enough for me to count all my blessings and say honestly “I feel great.”
M continues to breastfeed – and I’m proud of this fact. There have been some rocky patches the past couple of months, with supply dwindling increasingly, painful latching combined with teething, but we’ve overcome all of this together, M and I. And now at 30 weeks, 27 weeks after I was told to stop feeding him or miscarry, milk supply is back up, the pain isn’t so intense and as he feeds, his brother kicks him and he giggles! Their first interaction of sorts.
G and I still haven’t found a name for Bump. Compromise with bilingualism is tough; tougher still our second boy in two years! We’re compiling our lists, think we have the first name, but the true name we’d call Bump by, we haven’t found yet. The clock’s ticking it feels; at the same time, I’m sure, that when we hold our newborn son together, his name will jump out just as M was the perfect K from the day he was born. (MKM aka M or for us in ‘real-life’, K).
Preparation this time round seems to have faltered – we really haven’t done much. There’s additional baby-proofing I’d like done for M’s sake to ensure he’s fine when my eyes are split two ways, and a few tweaks to the apartment..aside from that, not too much really. Newbie clothes are dug out ready to be washed, cotton nappies pressed all ready to go. Our brother-in-law will take care of M in our home so we plan for him to start coming round frequently to get used to his routine – inshallah M will settle easier here. It will be the first time he’s been away from G or I for more than two hours in the whole of his life. I’m so nervous about this. I feel guilt over this.
It’s time to talk to our doctor about labour, and options, about risks and our choices should anything go off-course. It feels like the first time we’ve done this, despite having M because his birth veered so far from our plans. I’m trying to breathe through the anxiety, concentrate on the reality of the healthy baby asleep on my bed – tell myself the birth doesn’t matter at the end of the day.
As for my body and the battle of the ice-cream? Ice-cream is still awesome, my body is not yet quite obese and the bump containing Bump grows much bigger by the day. He seems low here, don’t you think?