In, or out? For the baby…
In means HOPELESS sleeping, needing a forklift truck to turn over at night, moderate fatigue levels, an odd nerve ending that twings down from my cervix in the evenings (nice).
Out means NO sleeping, except in 2 hour bursts (but they’ll be good, and I can do it on my back and my front to boot), breastfeeding (oh god, the prospect of that again does not fill me with joy), returning to normal (ie no people forgiving the way you look, or admiring your neat bump etc), having to think before stuffing my face with whatever I want to eat, getting crotchety with everyone.
A couple of nights ago I spent the whole night not sleeping but lying there in a heightened state of anxiety, worrying about money (house decorating has absorbed everything), the business (totally nada to show for it), my mother (she’s spent so much money moving to be near us for a few months, and I can’t face her being around at all during any of the birth period, and yet don’t know how to tell her) etc. Don’t feel anxious about the birth bit, except for the fact that it was all so lovely with The Toddler and I can’t see how it would be as good again. Indeed for about a year after having the first baby that ‘lovely space’ of comfort that it’s sometimes nice to retreat to when you’re trying to go to sleep was the moment we arrived at the birth centre and they put me in the pool. It was so lovely being suddenly in the hands of people who knew what they were doing, and the room was dark and private and the water was warm and lovely and then just a few pushes later I had the baby. But trying to think of that moment now in an effort to lull me off to sleep just makes me sorry that we’re not able to be at the same hospital this time around, and worry about the logistics of where we are going to be, and what we’re going to do with the Toddler and resigning myself to the fact that it’ll probably just be an almighty cock-up.
And had hoped that I might have had it before tomorrow when I think mother is coming down again, but as it looks unlikely to pop out early then it’ll just HAVE TO WAIT until she’s gone back home again. I can’t BEAR the thought of going into labour with her around, and knowing that she knows it’s happening, and is going to be sitting whereever she’s sitting, or rather probably hopping about, with excitement and anxiety and just HUGE LEVELS of fussiness. I just want to be able to tell her when it’s a Done Deal. A letter in the Guardian today hasn’t helped my feeling in this department: in A letter to … my estranged daughter a mother bemoans the fact that her daughter seems to have shut her out completely. This must be hugely hurtful, but her ending just gives me the heebie-jeebies.
There is always hope. That is one certainty I continue to live in. I am not perfect; there’s no such thing as a normal family. We do our best in whatever circumstances we find ourselves. Your generation can never truly understand how utterly different the dynamics of marriage were in those days – how could you? We are all children of our time, whether we like it or not.
Whatever else changes, real love does not … I will see you!
There’s obviously something going on there that is freaking her daughter out; just give her some space, and let her come to you! There is also an air superiority, a sort of ‘been there, done that, when you’re older you’ll learn’ etc etc that I definitely get from my mother and drives me round the bend.
Anyway I shan’t labour the point. Would be much better to labour the labour… (sorry).
PS BF it turned out did actually have flu, but is now better, so at least that element has improved. Was un peu pas amusant being the only ‘well’ person in the household – though I suppose I should thank my mother, and indeed mother-in-law, for frogmarching me to get the flu jab just before Christmas. 1-0 to them.