These past couple of days, I can’t help but think as to how I was last year. I’ve been looking back at past posts, pictures and reading my pregnancy diary. I can’t believe it’s been one year already, and yet some memories seem so distant (I’m thinking it’s due to the lack of sleep and foggy brain I had at the moment).
This time last year I was nearing the 36th week of pregnancy. The following week I would look something like this:
I was wearing my pregnancy ‘uniform’. I had my faithful long white skirt, my denim one, a couple of singles and dresses, and I hated them by the end of the pregnancy. I would cry when I opened my wardrobe (still do sometimes) and felt like a whale in a sea of goldfish.
I had terrible backache, heartburn sucked and finding a comfortable seated position was a feat. I had attended three maternity classes and was looking forward for the fourth, where we were supposed to discuss breathing techniques during labour. That lesson never came for me.
I was thinking I had 4 weeks left of pregnancy. I had a pedicure and facial planned for before the baby arrived. I missed those appointments and went into labour with dark nailpolish on my digits.
I had ugly thoughts about being out in public and having my water break there, for all to witness. Sort of like being a teenager, going out, getting your period and marking your white jeans. Thankfully both never happened, and that deed was left for the midwife to perform.
I had prepared my hospital bag, although when the time came, I didn’t even take it with me. We had a camera with fully-charged batteries, I had reading books and snacks packed in there. In actual fact we were lucky to get a couple of pictures of C’s moment of entering this world with A’s iPhone, just before the battery gave away.
I was worried (petrified, terrified and so scared) about labour, when in actual fact I was really, really (I mean REALLY) lucky with the whole ordeal. My delivering midwife still mentions this to me every time we meet.
And my luckiest bit of it all was having A by my side. He made it with only a couple of hours to spare but was there when I needed him the most. Deep down I was convinced he wouldn’t be. I can never be thankful enough for that.
There were a hundred other bits I was worried about after Cesca was born. A left 3 days after C was born, and I decided to stay at our place alone with C. I was worried about that. I was worried about everything concerning C and her feeding. I would panic thinking about moving back to England with an 8-week old and 3 months worth of things, AND more so thinking about how I would take care of a baby alone with no help at hand. Somehow it all worked out and we’re all doing good 🙂
So to last year’s Josepha, I wish I could reassure you that all was going to be okay. I need not have worried about the little bits and bobs. The world works in mysterious ways, and things do fall into their place.