Somehow we’ve hit the half way mark and started to sail past it and I’m still sat over here with my avocado on toast and cup of coffee completely in denial that in a few months time there will be a baby.
A REAL BABY.
One that needs me to give it milk and like, change its nappies and hold it and look after it and stuff.
I’m not going to play the old ‘BUT I CAN HARDLY LOOK AFTER MYSELF’ card because who am I kidding, I am fantastic at looking after myself. But, the one thing that has mildly freaked me out since finding out I was pregnant, is how incredibly calm I’ve been about the whole thing.
I’m not scared or overwhelmed or daunted, and it doesn’t feel like a big deal. It just feels really right, and really, well… normal.
And people keep being like OMG OMG HOW ARE YOU FEELING? And I’m just over here like exactly the same, mate. Exactly the bloody same.
You’d think I was getting a pet gold fish or something and not an actual child.
Maybe my head will be all WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE once I’m on 90 minutes sleep a night and all I can hear is ringing in my ears, or maybe it’ll continue to feel like the most normal, uneventful thing I’ve ever done, I dunno.
This part of the pregnancy is pretty bleedin’ awesome though. I’m not sick, heck, I’m not even that tired anymore. I’m getting by on maybe one or two afternoon naps a week, which let’s face it, is pretty much on par with pre-pregnant Hannah.
I feel like me. The same me. And so I guess what they (they being the pregnancy gods that lord the internet) say is true, that every week after that ghastly first trimester, you start to feel more and more like yourself again.
I’m loving work. I’m loving getting out the house. I’m loving being the multi-tasking super efficient queen that I am. I’m loving being Hannah Frances Gale.
I guess the main differences I’m noticing are that a) I look pregnant. Like, properly pregnant (I had my first member of the public ask how far along I was whilst in B&Q at the weekend, so that’s a whopper of a milestone) and that b) I’m really impatient and irritable.
I mean, I was impatient before I fell pregnant with child, but now I’m literally like WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING AND WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU AND HELLO PREGNANT OVER HERE. It’s not so much that I think the world revolves around me (although I do a little bit, especially where Chris is concerned), it’s that I want people to be aware of me and to consider me more.
Which I guess is probably pretty normal – call it me being a protective parent or something.
Like when people make me walk further than is necessary because it suits them and I’m like COO-EY OVER HERE, HELLO, PREGNANT LADY. Put me first, put me first.
I am a bit of a brat, so apologies to anyone who has had to be around my recently. It’s not me, it’s the alien in my tummy, promise.
Oh and there is a c) I’m currently weeing about every half an hour because omg it feels like my bladder might explode, only to actually sit down on the loo and only wee out about a teaspoon worth of wee. It doesn’t hurt like with cystitis, I’m just assuming it’s down to a lack of space in the ol’ abdomen these days. I’m also finding I get short of breath really easily and that my neck and shoulders are crying out for some sort of hideously wonderful deep tissue massage.
On another note, I had my routine 20-week scan at Ipswich Hospital not too long ago, which was pretty awesome, mostly because you get actual reassurance that your baby is fine and happy and N’AWWW LOOK IT’S SUCKING ITS THUMB.
Which, when you’ve spent the majority of the past eight weeks since your last scan not being entirely convinced its still in there, is grand.
This is also the scan where a lot of people choose to find out the gender of their baby, but we’re holding out for a surprise. The sonographer also measures your baby’s legs and tummy and head to make sure everything’s growing at the rate it should be.
I also found out that my placenta is lying a little low, so got booked in for a 34 week scan (most people won’t have this), just to check that the ol’ placenta has moved and isn’t still blocking the, y’know, exit route.
I’ve currently got a 1 in 10 chance of needing a C-section based on that bad boy, but I’m not particularly worried about it. So long as both me and the babs are happy and healthy.
What else can I tell you? We’ve started swanning around John Lewis and testing pushchairs properly and taking fake babies for a spin in them which is nice. We’ve also started talking about what we want to do to the spare room – at the moment we’re thinking white walls and pale grey floorboards. And naturally I’m looking at every handmade cute star/cloud/animal garland over on Etsy because if you don’t buy something unnecessarily Pinterest for your nursery, did you even have a baby?
You’ll all be pleased to hear my nipples haven’t started leaking just yet, but they are looking like some very delicious slices of bobbly pepperoni. They make me jump every time I catch myself naked in the mirror like WHO DAT? DAT NOT ME.
I also haven’t yet got a stretch mark, but I suspect I’m mere days away because lordy, my skin feels more stretched than the elastic band my cat insists on playing with, despite the fact I’m constantly whacking on various moisturisers and oils.
And, that, I ~think~ is everything.
See ya laters, alligators.