Wednesday, February 16, 2011


32 weeks pregnant today.

T-h-i-r-t-y t-w-o.

It’s a number I dared not mention aloud three, five, 10 weeks ago. Why? Because with it brings the immense possibility that we have just six short weeks left before our baby arrives. I’m suddenly in limbo having spent the last 7 months hanging in the balance of our past and our future. And BOOM, there are too many questions and not enough time. 

A couple of weeks back Chris and I had a 30 week pregnancy growth scan. Tiny bones, limbs, skull, organs all measured within the swooshy curve on the graph paper. I haphazardly weed into a tiny pot and was told that my urine sample was fine. I dragged off my boots as I stepped onto the scales and watched the arrow quickly kick round to 70.8kgs. I’m carrying an extra stone and a half in baby and fluid and boy does my brittle spine feel it. I’m like an old weather-beaten lady of the Himalayas creeping along a goat track unable to lift her head for fear of tripping. 

We asked questions about the c-section and were advised it would be around 38 weeks but no date was set. I wanted to know when the stitch in my cervix would be removed and got told it might not, it might actually be left in. Everyone was kind, everyone was positive and the registra looked at me with eyes that spoke volumes, ‘hang in there’, but still questions remained unanswered and instead I have to go back again at 34 weeks. The sonographer gave us a photo of our busy little boy buzzing around in my tummy and said it was for free, we didn’t argue, and Chris returned to Africa with it safely in his bag.

So it goes...last night during the in-between hours of night and day I lay, desperate to go back to sleep, but with a million questions roaring through my mind. Should I read a book, what about listening to the radio, will someone please shut my brain off, why do I keep rolling onto my back, has baby kicked enough, what’s wrong with my hair, for gods sake turn off the truck engine idling outside the window.  Am I eating enough vegetables, will we want to return to Uganda with a young baby, ironically living at home is great but please can I cook my own dinner, I haven’t joined any pre pregnancy groups and I’m worried I’ll fail on every parenting level possible. Did I really look at my friend’s three year old son earlier and think, ‘is this what I’ve signed up for?'

And still the questions ran on like an unleashed, hysterical hound. Will the Ugandan elections be trouble free, I’ve transferred the last of our money for building materials and we’re over budget, have I made the right decision to stop working – can I survive on bread and water alone, will the cottage we’re due to rent after the birth be good enough, dare I hope for our son to be healthy, am I anticipating getting to 38 weeks too soon?  I haven’t packed a baby bag (I haven’t even brought anything relevant yet) the differences between a natural birth and a c-section are huge and no I don’t have a choice, whose the surgeon holding the knife to my stomach, will Chris be able to cut the cord, my boobs look too small to contemplate breastfeeding and how quickly can my body recover this time?


StOp tHe nOnSenSE.

sToP tHAt NoIsE.

miNd ThE GaP iN mY BrAiN.

Today I’ve been tired, confused, snarky and I’m blaming it all on sleep deprivation. Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking, ‘just wait until you have the baby!’

I played, ‘Rome Wasn’t Built In A Day’ by Morcheeba and as I looked out on a grey February morning it’s true, in the grand scheme of things nothing happens overnight, but what's true is that questions do eventually get answered and incredible cities gradually get built.

32 weeks…..I’m gunning for you 38.

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