My Hump, My Hump, My Lovely Baby Bump

Sod it, I thought. Keep shelving the ‘big post project plan’ for today again, because I walked past the mirror and thought chuffing nora. I’m massive. Plus this one’s a frisky little thing, and has barely let me think/do of much else today, despite the work mountain threatening to require a pick axe and crampons if left in it’s current state. Then the boy comes home, requires IMMEDIATE attention to his various complex mundane needs. He’s always so exhausted after a day at the childminders that we have a half hour slot to attend to his wants before histrionics. So more sod its later, some medicinal chocolate having being sent for and returned, I thought I’d acknowledge the incubus.

I know I’m pregnant. God knows Wolf knows I’m pregnant with my demands for various pickled items and my threats to pickle some of his items. But there’s a large dollop of denial sitting atop this baking bun. Rufus may have to stop being the medical mystery, as the conception of baby B may outrank him. It must have been conceived somewhere in a period of time that we actually referred to as our winter of discontent. A permanently snuffly, gripey, teething, screaming baby that thought sleep was so 2011. Me suffering from some belated post natal depression. All in all, we weren’t feeling altogether ‘cuddly’.

The magical words from wolf’s mouth on a rare night out about a week before we knew. I was complaining of lethargy and yuckiness not felt since Rufus was a mere poppy seed. Quote “you better not be fucking pregnant”. I downed my pint to get rid of the nausea. I promise to remove this bit from the post when baby B is old enough to read.

We were due to sign on our new house that day. I was arranging my return to work. I suspected drinking wasn’t the right thing to do, the feeling hadn’t abated. A minute after my period was late I took the test. With Rufus, this took some several days post to confirm that I didn’t have a virus. Not this time, ping! Right so this isn’t just moving house anxiety, this is another D. Then I had to think how I would tell wolf. I knew like me he’d be pleased really, once the post traumatic stress had worn off.

My sister came out with a corker during her current pregnancy. “Your first is all romantic and new, exciting. The second time round, it’s all business”. And she’s right. This was a surprise, we hadn’t invested time and emotion into it. We’d discussed more children, but it was in the same category as eventually owning property. Not anytime soon. We weren’t recovered, we aren’t fully recovered from the first time round. So we know, but until we know things may be a bit more straightforward I don’t think we’ll ever believe.

That’s why I caught myself today, I realised this really isn’t like last time. Not that I knew or would have believed any bad news last time until there was nothing else. I didn’t want to believe. It wasn’t from a massive well of positivity, it was from a lake of naivety. Now I know too much. Every scan and obstetrician appointment is met with a scrutiny over their analysis they’ve not received since their medical school exams, sorry that is a bit of an over exaggeration of the quality of my questions, since the last neurotic mother with a previous difficult encounter aims at them.

Me pushing my bump forward at around 29 weeks with Rufus

I now also realise what proper kicks feel like. And acrobatics. A movement strong enough to cause involuntary movement (and other movements!) of its incubator. And I now see I just wasn’t big enough last time. Unless I’d been able to give some lower organs on loan somewhere, there was no way I was just ‘carrying it that way’. And maybe I’d just sod it, and let myself give a little nod to baby B. I’ve talked of you, in passing, referred to you making me fat. But here’s a hat tip. And that lovely protective rub of my buddha belly that pregnant women do without thinking.

But I also want it to know it doesn’t have to be our great white hope. Baby, you can be just you. If we need to cope again, we’ll do our upmost not to let either of you down, just embarrass you when you’re old enough. I’m going to worry, and I’ll shed a lot of tears no matter your arrival or path through this world. And I’ll google some crap just for you too. Maybe just don’t cry as much as your brother?!

Today at 20+3 weeks. Note the change in attire, and make up from my last pregnancy however. Thanks son!
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