How did I manage to let go just a little?
I whizzed over to Box Hill for an appointment at my obstetrician’s office this morning – the streets are still empty and parking spots (no parallel parking required!) were plentiful. My doctor is away on holidays, as all obstetricians must be at this time of year (sure glad I am not due in Summer! Who knows who might end up delivering my baby), so I saw his Midwife who prodded my stomach and said “ooh, here’s a little head”. She showed me where it was and through my squashy skin I could feel a little round bump and I was quite overcome. I had completely lost track of what week I am up to in my pregnancy and had to ask. 17 and a half weeks. Not that far away from half way…
This is such a strange pregnancy compared to last time when I worried about every little feeling, every change, every imagined scenario. I counted down the time to b-day and read up each week what was going on both with me and with the baby. This time I am only reminded that I am even actually pregnant when I go to make a ham sandwich (ham = big no no due to colonies of festering bacteria apparently just waiting to get me) or try to squeeze into my favourite jeans (jeans = big no no due to lack of elastic waist band) or when I have to drag myself out of bed to pee at 4am.
The time is going incredibly fast as days are spent juggling and jostling life, food, work, child, etc. Some evenings I wonder if I am not “bonding” with my child as much as I did with Amelia when I had copious amounts of time to sit around soaking in a bath while humming tunes to the then foetus. I then comfort myself by thinking that perhaps this all has nothing to do with bonding at all (surely that happens regardless of how much you stroke your belly), and in fact this laissez-faire attitude will carry through in some form once child number 2 is born and thus child number 2 will be a well loved but relaxed, independent little soul who doesn’t freak out in a strong wind, or cling to my leg when a dog is seen on the horizon. Perhaps.