39+3

I feel bad for wanting this baby out now. I have friends who struggle to stay pregnant and for whom every additional day the baby stays within, their chances increase. And here I am, wishing my baby would crack on before my actual due date.

But then I feel bad because I'm so pregnant, I'm a basic failure of a mother. I daren't do ANYTHING. Daren't take Fatbum to the shop or the park, daren't make any plans. He is bored out of his toddlerish mind. I have people to take him for me, but these are our last days as just Mummy and Fatbum and I'm wishing them away.

I'm getting a few signs that I may not be pregnant forever. Nothing definite. I rather think he may come at the weekend, but knowing my poor judgement, I'll probably go WEEKS overdue.

39+0

Seven days. One week.

I've had intermittent cramps all afternoon, the baby feels lower and I generally feel like the off may not be a million years away.

Odd, as most of the time, my brain has trouble with me even being pregnant, nevermind IMMINENT.

The Ex is behaving moderately well, for a change. I think reality is sinking in a bit. I'll be glad when it's over. I'm unwell, tired, achey and the only thing that isn't giving me gyp is my SIZE because I'm not that big. With Fatbum being such a BIG bum, this baby feels tiny. He's average, but compared to Fatbum, that's tiny.

38+5

I've had a FUN WEEK (not)

I've got a UTI. Nobody has given me any treatment yet and I'm in agony today. Every time Lump brushes me bladder, I'm in a paroxysm of pain.

I had the midwife on Wednesday. Lump is measuring 34cm and she couldn't tell if he was breech or ceph, so I had a jolly emergency scan. Lo! Lump is cephalic, a healthy size (though small compared to his giant brother) and slightly polyhydramnios. Nothing to worry about, I just expect a messy, wet birth and a small baby. I say small, he'll probably be 7ish pounds. Fatbum was over 9lb.

In cheerier news, he's starting to engage. As he's my second baby, this probably means he will be born fairly soon. The emotional balls of being pregnant with HIS baby is taking it's toll. Although I'm not especially uncomfortable, just tired, I am sick of being pregnant. Sick of knowing it's his baby. Sick of wondering just how useless he'll be, hypothesising how much lower he will sink. Trying desperately not to hope, yet hoping all the same that somehow he'll transform back into the man I wanted kids with.

I disgust myself.

His brother announced they're having a new baby. It galls me.

9 days til I'm due. 9 days til I can stop torturing myself with what-ifs.

37+2

Erk.
37 weeks
Erk.
That's pretty much full term, isn't it? I mean, the hospital won't let me have my homebirth til 38 weeks (unless I just sit at home and refuse to go in, but I probably wouldn't do that!) but 38 weeks is on Monday...it's almost Thursday...

Did I mention that I'm having this baby at home? If anyone calls me brave, I shall bite them. My Fatbum came out so quick that it was verging on dangerous - precipitate labour is associated with increased incidence of infection in both mother and baby and increased risk of haemorrhage. I could have given birth to him on the side of the road, t'was nought but will power that stopped me pushing when my body was SCREAMING at me to PLEASE PUSH.
So, it's not a question of bravery, but one of safety and practicality. I can't drive, I live alone. I can't get myself to hospital if labour begins at a perilously fast rate. Let them come to me!
Home delivery means you have at least one midwife with you at all times. No sitting around waiting for them to finally get to you. Home delivery means if there is a complication, you're fasttracked to the front of the queue. I live 10 minutes from hospital: if there's an emergency, I'll probably see a consultant faster than if I'd been an inpatient.

I am looking forward to giving birth. I'm not afraid of it. I just want it done. I want to see my baby. I want to hold him and feed him and know he's OK and that I'm OK with him.

I did all my washing and packing today. I've packed an emergency hospital bag, just in case. If all goes to plan, it means all my postnatal stuff is in one place. One of my kitchen cupboards is now full of shower curtains, old sheets and a couple of towels. I have washed ALL my 0-3 months baby clothes from having Fatbum and folded them nicely and put them away. I am more or less ready.

I've been having a few signs that everything is progressing as it should be. A massive hormone surge, the baby appears to be engaging slowly (and painfully) and more frequent, lower braxton hicks.

I recently became an auntie again and the newborn has quite literally fired up my maternal instinct to MAJOR new highs.

Fatbum was two at the weekend. He is absolutely bloody adorable. He makes my heart gooify.

I'm on maternity leave now. I should probably post more.

36w+3d

I have pretty much given up all hope of the ex ever being a decent person. It's Fatbum's birthday on sunday and he refuses to come over and see him, because I won't let him take him out. No, I won't. He's my son, this is his home and people are coming to see him. It's not about Ex, and if he can't pull his head of his arse and put up for one day, then he can fuck off. It still upsets me. I thought he was a decent man and he isn't and I feel guilty for having children with him because he can't put them first. He's seeing him on Saturday, but only for a couple of hours, and thinks that is sufficent. He's a twat.

Why does everything have to be such a struggle? It's only a struggle or a problem because of him refusing to face people who might be slightly judgemental or because of his jealous, hissy-fit bird.

As far as the baby's concerned, my mind has shifted gear recently. Instead of feeling continually rejected by ex, I'm just getting on with it. I'm still in denial. I don't really believe this baby will come out. But, I need to stop relying on Ex to make me feel better about it because his head is trapped for eternity under the sand. He still seems to think the baby will never be born and I don't know what the hell he's going to do after I give birth. I hope he steps up, but I don't think he will. He's pathetic.
In the mean time, I am trying to get ready for the imminent arrival. Not easy, when all the stuff I would normally expect Ex to do gets put off and put off because he can't be arsed. Like assembling new furniture and getting baby things out of the loft. I haven't even got the buggy set up yet. And he's given me no money for anything baby related, despite promising to help me buy the buggy and maternity clothes. Stuff I, y'know, NEED.

Bump is still measuring a bit small, but Lump is apparently well curled up, which explains why. I may be hiding Gigantababy in there after all. I've had thrush for bloody ages from being on a cocktail of antibiotics for practically six weeks. My anaemia levels are all sorting themselves out and I feel pretty good - not too uncomfortable or achey and not too big.

I feel whiny and annoyed because I am sick of him acting like I want him back when I bloody don't. At all. Ever. I just want my kids to have a decent father, who puts them first, at least now and then. Instead, I have a selfish wanker who is so detached from reality, we might as well not exist.

34+3

The baby is now measuring 34cm, although the midwife thinks he will be a smaller baby, under 8lb. I can't imagine having a baby that small after having 9lb+ Fatbum. I think he will be smaller too. Although currently I feel VERY FULL of child. His bum is just below my sternum and his head is free and around my pelvis. I cannot bend. There is nowhere for him to go. I can't wait for him to start engaging, but that's probably going to be another four weeks.

I'm so tired. Hb was 10.3 last week, so it's probably lower by now. I start iron tommorow when I pick my prescription up. I'm really very symptomatic. B12 isn't doing too badly though.

Fatbum is utterly adorable at the moment. This is SUCH a lovely age. A shame the ex is missing out on a lot of it by not getting his priorities straight. Fatbum turns two in a few short weeks. Unbelievable. He's just covered me in stickers.

I'm starting to want the Lump now. Really want him, not just hope for the best when he comes. I find myself wondering what he'll look like and who he'll resemble more. I wonder if he'll be a mini-Fatbum or whether he'll be completely different. I wonder how he'll feed and whether he'll be a fussy or calm baby. I know that when I hold him, I'll know this was worth it.

I am dreading the postnatal period. But I have survived THIS. I am not dead. I can survive more. And one day it won't hurt so much.

32+3

So, the baby's slightly small for dates. He was growing normally until this week and now his fundal height has dropped by a centimetre. It's not even clinically SFD, but because of the stress and everything, they're keeping an eye on it. If he's not up to 34cm at 34w, I need a growth scan. I'm fairly sure HE is growing fine, I think it's ME that isn't.

I still feel horribly confused and messed up. I don't know how to CONNECT to him. I might as well have a football under my skin for all I relate to him. I don't even notice him kicking most of the time. It's not how I ever thought I would be when pregnant. When I think how much I WANTED to get pregnant, when I think how I felt when I was expecting his brother. I hate myself for feeling like this. I'd give anything to be able to stop thinking of him negatively, and start wanting him.

I wish I could fastforward the next two months and just deliver him and see him and feel him and know he's mine. I imagine birth will be quite cathartic. I don't know though. I'm scared I'll feel nothing for him when he's actually born.

His father is useless. Worse than useless, because if he was actually useless, then I'd be able to forget about him. He does little tiny things that give me hope - not for reconcilliation, I'm way past THAT, but hope that he will be good dad to this baby - and then he smashes those hopes with a lumphammer. How can you not want time off work when you're baby's born? How can you say you'll support your ex and older child when you won't even TRY and be there?

He's a failure as a husband and a father. He's a failure as a man. I hope the guilt eats him alive.

I hate always having to be the strong one. I don't feel very strong. I feel like I'm being waterboarded, and everytime I think I've finally lost consciousness and died, the bastards wake me back up again and it starts all over. I want some peace. I don't want to die, I just want some peace.