I was one of the most excited pregnant people you could imagine. Especially after I got past the dreaded three month mark. Many miscarriages had left me wary, okay petrified, and when I felt him move and saw him fully formed on the scan it set the agenda for much excitement. This was the baby that I was going to bring home.
I spent hours choosing a colour scheme for his room – I knew he was a boy and I knew I wanted wallpaper, yes I was obsessed with wallpaper borders! I pored over magazines, catalogues and online shops trying to choose the perfect cot, the most comfortable pram, the sturdiest rocker. The most calming wallpaper borders. You name it I was expert in it. I had visions of bringing home my baby swaddled in soft blankets, I could picture the soft lighting, hear the lullabies that would fill the air and I could see in my mind’s eye the perfect contented baby.
When I wasn’t choosing baby products I was working. Making the most of the final months that I was able to work impossibly long hours . I knew that things would change after he was born and that my return to work would be different, I wouldn’t be able to do the long hours and so I was super organized in putting structures in place to make an easy transition from working fanatic to working mother.
At 24 weeks I was having problems getting into my work clothes. Hell, I was even having trouble getting into my pajamas. It wasn’t my stomach – that wasn’t even that big. But Lord my ankles were huge.