It seems like pregnancy is one big long waiting game and I’m just not good at waiting. I waited diligently every month to ovulate, to try again. I waited the two weeks to test, analysing every symptom. I waited until the twelve week scan, to make sure there was a baby and that they were alive. I waited to tell friends and family my secret.
I waited until the 20 week scan to find out the sex. Then the big wait, the longest yet until labour.
Every day I’m waiting, for something. I’m waiting to wake up in pain, wanting those cramps to start. I’m waiting for a wet bed or a wet trickle because my waters have gone, or for the random cramps I do get to come again. I’m waiting for jelly like slime to appear, a sign things may be happening.
My first was ten days over, the days were so long. Every morning I’d wake up excitedly -‘ did I sleep through something? Will today be the day?’. Go to bed disappointed that it wasn’t, that I’d have to wait again a bit longer. I couldn’t sleep, I was up super early every day. Wishing waiting wishing.
Same this time round. I wanted an earlier baby. I didn’t tell people my due date because I didn’t want the pity texts, the ‘are there any signs’ and I didn’t want a date fixed in my head to be disappointed by. Seems it didn’t work, the official due date has come around and still nothing. Still texts daily ‘any signs?’- go away. Let me mither and wait in peace. I feel a failure, a let down because I can’t encourage my body to have a baby. Irrational I know- I obviously cook them too well and it’s cosy but doesn’t stop me wanting this baby now.
If I hear ‘he’ll come when he’s ready’ one more time though I might scream