I miss my bump. Like really miss my bump. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still somewhat of a bump there-a much more squishy variation of a bump than before, so I’m referring to the big hard bump with Mr Baby Alexander in there, growing week by week and kicking away. A friend once described pregnancy as, “giving your unborn baby the best hug in the world” and I suppose it is just that.
7-9 months pregnant.
I adored my second pregnancy for the most part. It was fairly uncomplicated (bar a nasty water infection at 18 weeks), I didn’t get the pregnancy liver condition OC like I had with Oliver, had no sickness (not even in the beginning), the birth was relaxing and I pretty much felt good from the get go. Reflecting on those 9 months (or 10 really), it went super quick (just like everyone said it would with a toddler in tow) but I really enjoyed it.
I loved it when Oliver would kiss my bump in the bath, chatting away to his brother through ‘the microphone’ that was my belly button and tracking my pregnancy week by week discovering what he was up to in there with the usual comparisons of, “he’s now the size of an peanut/orange/watermelon” (Oh) my husband often made.
I also miss the ritualistic appointments with my midwife (it helped that she was lovely) and my consultant (it helped that he was handsome) and measuring my expanding bump each time. I’ll never forget the, “you’re measuring 43 weeks at 38” announcement and the shock of possibly expecting a 10 pounder. (He was 8 pounds 2).
There are a few things I don’t miss of course: not being able to get comfortable at night towards the end, not eating stilton (it’s a blooming hard life I tell you), randoms touching the bump (what’s up with that?) There is a person attached to the bump and that’s my tummy you know dudes. Even worse though was SHOCK, HORROR not being able to wear jeans (maternity jeans and I never got on (they hurt, made me look frumpy not yummy) so I was a leggings and dresses Preggy Sue all the way).
Despite all that, I still miss pregnancy so all you ladies up the duff, please relish every moment of it (even the rubbish bits-swollen feet anyone?)…and who knows, maybe my bump and I will meet again in a few years…just don’t tell the husband, he might well freak out!