In four days time I will hold my baby in my arms. After carrying him in my growing tummy for nine months, 40 weeks, 280 days, he will be here. In my arms.
Throughout this pregnancy I haven’t really thought too much about the growing life inside of me, or of how life will be once he is born. With another child to tend to, I have been too busy concentrating on her needs. Yet as I sit here, feeling him moving around inside me, there is a growing realisation that on Monday, come what may, I will hold my son in my arms. That I will once again be a mummy. That I will have two precious babies to care for.
I’m not quite sure which emotion I feel more strongly. Excitement to meet our long-awaited little boy and hold him for the first time. Anxiety at the surgery I am due to undergo and recover from. Emotional at the thought of being away from my little girl for so long. It all hits me one by one, in waves, making this whole thing seem so overwhelming.
So in my last few days as a pregnant mummy to one little person, here is what I am looking forward to. Holding my boy for the first time, hearing him cry and cuddling him close. Being able to stand, walk or bend over without pain. Wearing all the lovely summer clothes that hang in my wardrobe, gathering dust. My little girl meeting her brother for the first time, and probably not being interested at all. And the completion of our family.