Well, I’ve reached week 38 of my second pregnancy, and I’m
starting to feel a bit guilty for wishing it away.
I’ve been “done” - and I mean DONE - for several weeks
now. Getting up to pee 6 times a night,
adopting a bit of a waddle thanks to the sciatic nerve pain, feeling completely
exhausted and generally large (more like EXTRA large) has turned me into one
grumpy pregnant person. I’ve scoured the
internet and begged for advice in online groups for ways to get the labour going
sooner. I’ve started taking evening
primrose oil caplets and drinking raspberry leaf tea, I’ve gone for long walks
and gotten hubby on board to help with other fun (yet utterly awkward at this
stage) methods. And yet, this baby is
still safely tucked away in my belly with no real signs of adhering to my
eviction notice.
Now that I’m closer than ever to the big day, I’m realizing
that this could be my last experience with pregnancy. Hubby and I have thought about having 3
children, but the more we discuss, the more we feel that 2 might be just right
for us. And so, in a few weeks, a few days
or even a few hours, I will be giving up my last beautiful round belly, my last
adoring look from a stranger, my last kick from the miracle growing inside me.
If I’ve learned anything from my first born, Mateo, it’s
that time goes unbearably fast when you start to have children. Forgive me for the cliché, but it literally
feels like yesterday that we brought him home, and now he is having complete
conversations with us and insisting on doing everything “by self”. One day, not so long from now, the baby I’m
wishing would come out of my body will be walking out of my house, and I’ll
wonder where the years went.
Nothing I do or say or wish for will speed up or slow down
the clock. And this little baby will
come when she’s ready – in her own good time.
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