I made a promise to myself last night that I’d keep this post as light-hearted as possible. I suspect anyone reading this will have started wanting to throttle me a few months ago. That, or you’ve stopped believing I’m even pregnant! It feels like (and reads like) I’ve been pregnant for a year now and I’m constantly having to contain my jealousy when I see all my friends sharing ‘welcome to the world baby’ statuses on Facebook. I swear some of these people announced their pregnancies after me…

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve tweeted about my labour when in reality I don’t even know what I should be looking out for in the first place. At 39 weeks I can confirm I’m getting regular pressure on my bladder and my pelvic floor, and plenty of tightenings higher up in my abdomen - but are these really something to be getting excited about? I don’t know. I didn’t experience one contraction with Dexter so I have nothing to compare them against.

The general consensus seem to be that if you are unsure whether you are in labour, you probably aren’t. This is the rule of thumb filtered down to thousands of mums-to-be by midwives everywhere (and irritatingly validated by mums-in-the-know in the natural labour brigade). It sounds about right on the face of it, but it doesn’t stop me wanting to jab my own thumbs somewhere unpleasant in their smug faces. After-all, midwives are the gatekeepers of early labour… the ones who have access to the drugs that can induce us… the ones who no doubt have million tricks they could share that will guarantee our spot in the delivery room this evening, but won’t give them up.

The truth is, I’ve had a really shitty time of it these past few weeks. There was some confusion as to whether my waters had gone with two separate consultants proffering different opinions. Both times (once in week 37, and another in 38) I felt the equivalent of a champagne glass full of fluid leave my body involuntarily - there had been no pressure on bladder immediately before. This got my hopes up as I began to think they’d have to hurry-up the labour or intervene due to risk of infection… but nope.

The one thing both consultants agreed upon on was that Operation #GetBabyOut would have to stop immediately. I’d weakened my pelvic floor muscles by exercising too excessively (and aggressively) and they would need time to recover before D Day.

I’ve had mixed success with this challenge. Lazing around on bed rest just doesn’t seem to compute with me. Like most mums to be I have some serious nesting to be getting on with, and anything that brings me closer to that inevitable pop of my waters beats the hell out of laying in bed watching Tipping Point. As my consultants have made it crystal clear they won’t induce me due to the problems I had with Dexter’s birth, I often find myself staring at the clock ever-conscious that the longer this goes on, the more likely I am to meet my baby on an operating table.

It was during this time that @MamaBabyBliss sent me an article that sums up perfectly how I’m feeling at the moment. It’s the musings of US midwife Jana Studelska about labour anxiety and the later stages of pregnancy. You can read the full article here but I’ve nicked quoted the best bits here if you’re simply not up to anymore pregnancy reading at the moment:

It’s time to hurry up and wait. Not a comfortable place to be, but wholly necessary…. I tell these beautiful, round, swollen, weepy women to go with it and be okay there. Feel it, think it, don’t push it away.

What we don’t have is reverence or relevance—or even a working understanding of the vulnerability and openness a woman experiences at this time. Our language and culture fails us. This surely explains why many women find this time so complicated and tricky. But whether we recognize it or not, these last days of pregnancy are a distinct biologic and psychological event, essential to the birth of a mother.

Okay it’s a bit Kumbaya for my usual self, but it seems to resonate with the pregnant me. These last few weeks, days, hours are the ultimate test for some pregnant women. It’s entirely possible to lose your mind to grief, frustration, fear and excitement. These emotional responses won’t let up, not even for a second, not even in your sleep. Not every woman will go to this place (I didn’t with Dexter) but I’ve been sat here for a few weeks now. It feels like purgatory. I will admit though that this article made me feel better. I was able to imagine this time as a sort of secret fourth trimester; a special club reserved for the true warriors of motherhood.

So I’ve decided not to blog anymore about this pregnancy now. Don’t worry, I haven’t gone all ‘inner peace’ or ‘tie-dye knickers’ on you all, I just have nothing left of any value to say about it. It sucks, I hate it, I don’t think I’ll ever put myself through this again. I’ll see you all on the other side - whether I find a footbridge, jump in a canoe, or take my chances swimming across - I’ll tell you how I did it when I get there and not as I’m doing it.

This one goes out to my fellow bump buddies - particularly those who find themselves rubbing their swollen tummies a little too forcibly as they’re watching One Born Every Minute, or adding little unnecessary bounces to their step as they walk up the stairs. I FEEL YOUR PAIN!