Unbelievably, I am now 32 and a half weeks gone, and the time has flown.
Panic has set in a little over the past week or so, which has spurred me on to pack my hospital bag but not much else except procrastinating and worrying, worrying and procrastinating. It’s what I do best.
We have, though, got all in place to move to the lovely house we were hoping for, which has been a massive bit of good news. It’s a real family home, with a garden big enough for the dog to go nuts and which is homely enough for me to feel “proper”. That’s the only way I can describe it. It’s a proper family home.
So, that means that all we have to do in the seven and a half weeks I have left is: pack up our lives; move home; sort the finances; prepare for baby and remain sane. What could be simpler?
Needless to say, I’m feeling a little overwhelmed with everything. I go on maternity leave mid October, which ties in with our move date and gives us 2 weeks overlap from my tenancy at the flat. All great in theory, but I’m all ready feeling spread a little thin.
Work has become a constant battle with baby brain, and I’m finding I’m forever second guessing myself or playing catch up. Home is exhausting: dog walks are getting harder and mess is building up e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e; making a start on packing has seen two boxes down, with seven trillion to go and all I really want to do is sleep, because that’s the one thing I can’t seem to do at night time (you know, the time allocated for that very purpose). Then there’s the other stuff: back in Yorkshire, some of my family aren’t doing so well with a complex situation on the horizon and I feel guilty for not being there; guilty if I forget about calling and, most of all, guilty that I don’t feel well enough equipped to know what to do.
And through all of this, I feel as though I’m on my own. I’m not – not really – but I do feel it.
I know that this is because, ultimately, anxiety is such an overwhelming thing at times that it makes you want to retreat into yourself and blinkers your view of what you actually have. Add to that a fistful of hormones, a generous helping of backache and a pinch of insecurity and you’ve got yourself a delightful recipe for crazy.
Thankfully, I know that in a months time, when we’re in the house and everything is sorted – because it will get sorted – I will feel at ease and look back and know how worth it all the stress was.
Today, after feeling particularly despondent, I took the dog and the child for a walk around what will be our village, to feel out the area. The village has something of a Royston Vasey vibe to it. It could definitely be the setting for a horror movie. Down the back lane, there’s a giant carved womble next to a pretty but run down and sort of spooky gypsy wagon, which kind of sums up the feel of the place. It’s all very pleasing.
We also took the opportunity to have a snoop at the currently empty house. I felt like a trespasser on someone else’s life until I realised that this was actually the setting for our future, and all the gloom of the day washed away, replaced with excitement and hope for what’s to come.
I have no qualms about moving on and moving forward – which is unusual for me – and so invites a lot of hope. Things always come back around. Here’s to what’s to come.