The waiting game (2 weeks overdue)

A fortnight. 2 weeks. 14 days. 336 hours. It may not seem like a long amount of time in the grand scheme of things but if anyone’s been overdue then you’ll know that it feels like a lifetime.

shallow focus of clear hourglass
Photo by Jordan Benton on Pexels.com

Planning the ‘ideal’ waiting time

Before I had Archie I commuted daily from London which resulted in about 3 hours of travelling every day. This quickly took its toll when I was heavily pregnant so I decided to give myself a few weeks off before baby arrived to enjoy ‘nesting’ and to put my feet up. Unfortunately what I hadn’t anticipated was Archie being super comfy and deciding he didn’t want to come out on his own accord (read my induction story here).

What was supposed to be a few blissful weeks turned into me at first suddenly panicking that baby might come early (I know the irony – for some reason my head couldn’t contemplate it in the opposite scenario!!). So week 1 consisted of me buying a few final bits I needed, putting some finishing touches to the nursery, doing a deep clean of the kitchen and doing all the crazy things someone does when in ‘nesting’ mode.

After that I had 4 weeks. Of just waiting. And willing something to happen. Whilst at the same time becoming more and more terrified at the prospect of labour.

The concerned friends and family

As my due date came and went, I started to receive daily messages from my friends and family asking me if I’d had the baby yet, had any twinges, any inkling as to when it might happen? I mean I’d never known anyone be so interested in my life – the pure definition of peer pressure!

To highlight the issue further, I was part of an NCT whatsapp group with 7 other women who had all given birth to their babies 9 days before Archie decided to make his appearance! I read detailed comparisons of how their baby was sleeping, feeding, pooing and everything else in between. All I wanted to do was actually meet mine!

As the time passed I began to have some irrational thoughts.  Maybe I would never meet my baby? Maybe I wasn’t even pregnant to begin with? I mean that sounds ridiculous now but at the time I honestly thought I would have a permanent bump and would be rocking maternity clothes forever (with those wonderful elasticated waist bands maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing!).

I spent so much time worrying that I forgot to just enjoy it. To embrace the quiet and alone time. The excitement of meeting my baby.

I don’t want to sugar coat it too much because the reality is it can be very uncomfortable at the end of pregnancy. But I’d like to think if I ever got the chance to re-live it I’d eat my weight in Cadbury’s chocolate – when you’re pregnant there’s no such thing as overeating – and watch all my favourite Xmas films – because how can anyone be stressed watching Elf?!

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