I ate all the pies. Well okay, there were no pies but I have been consistantly over eating cake. Especially Lemon cake. I blame the womble that’s living in my womb (get it? womb-le..okay i’ll shup up now)
I’m over 18 weeks now and as usual I don’t look pregnant, I just look well….fatter. That’s what happens when you’re fat beore you get pregnancy. Still, at least it will be keeping baby warm.
This will be baby number four, if we don’t count the lostling which will always count, in my heart even if she was probably no bigger than a grain or rice. Not only is this number four, it is also our Last Baby. I’m okay with this. At least this as agreed in advance. Even this baby wasn’t supposed to be really, it was obviously meant to be though.
I wanted a fourth so very badly and yet I feel like I should be documenting it more, immortalising this final journey into pregnancy and yet in all honesty, there’s not really an awful lot to say. Not yet anyway. I guess i’m still waiting for it to feel real, to feel the kicks and have a bump rather than just more of the usual flubber. Hopefully we’ll be finding out if it’s a boy or a girl next week, this will be the only time in it’s life i’ll be willing it to open it’s legs. I’m 98% convinced it will be our third boy. He even has a name already. It sounds a little on the ridiculous side, but it’ll feel more like a person, feel more real once we know the gender. I can start obsessively planning stuff then, not that there is much to plan really or many pennies to plan with but hey, it’s not like they need that much anyway.
The three children are playing upstairs, I give it ten minutes before all hell breaks loose. I can’t even shout properly at the minute as we’re all recovering from the lurgy. I say recovering, that’s me being optimistic, something i’m still a novice it. In reality I just want to curl up and wail ‘i’m dyyyyyyyyyying’ It’s about now, when i’m coughing my lungs up that I start to overthink my pelvic floor.
Tomorrow we are prisoners in our home waiting for a courier to collect something and another to deliver. This actually isn’t too much of a bad thing, it means I can whimper and watch crap tv.
I recently learned how to crochet, i’m not very good at it but it’s pretty epic seeing as usually I fail at anything remotely creative. Only now I find myself lusting after wool. Pretty wool. This baby will have an awful lot of blankets at this rate.
I know I should probably introduce myself, I will get round to it. Eventually.
It’s nearly bedtime, yes i’m in my thirties and I go to bed with my youngest. He still sleeps next to me, this will change soon as in later this week. He’ll be four in a few weeks. I can’t express how much i’ll miss him. Probably more then i’ve missed my husband who’s been relegated to the couch for years. I’m so rock and roll. Sometimes I have to remember, I used to be somebody. I used to go places. I used to actually know people too, real people.
Night Night world.
Excuse the lack lustre blog, i’m working on it. I do have another one. Somewhere. But it’s not as personal. Intentionally so.