Today I have swung between being in one foul-arsed mood, teary, boundless love (you know the type, when you look at your kids sitting at the table eating dinner and you want to scoop them all up and somehow swallow them into your soul), extreme tiredness and back to general irritability.
I’ve been having some impressive pains all day, but am not holding my breath for them to develop into anything. They’re not really ‘peaking’, there is certainly no regularity, and half the time if I go to the bathroom or fart they go away.
This baby is officially due tomorrow.
The excitement is now far out-weighing the over-it-ness.
However, part of me is absolutely scared shitless.
Seriously, I look at the cot now set up in our bedroom and can’t quite get my head around the fact there’s going to be another snuffly, grunty, mumuring little munchkin in this house. In our lives. In my world.
I look at Jasper and part of me thinks, “how could I do this to you?”. When I say that I mean, he is still just a baby himself. I know the logical answer, in that he’ll have no recollection of the time before his youngest sibling arrived and so on and so forth, but that doesn’t take away from the reality that there is going to be another little person taking up my world.
I started going through all the baby clothes yesterday (see, I told you I’m still trying to get my head around it!) and while part of me was all very matter-of-fact, I’ve-been-here-before, a large part of me was handling these tiny little outfits and wondering who this little person is going to be and how hard I’m going to try to make their world safe, fun and full of love.
I guess I’m just feeling a bit daunted by being charged with such responsibility once more.