Littlest (week 39)

Sweetheart, it's getting so close to your arrival!
One way or another it's fairly certain you'll be out in the world in the next two weeks. This is a concept I should be au fait with, but I still find myself blinking in wonder.
You're nearly here, Littlest!
I'd like to say that as a result of my excited anticipation I've been a beam of sunshine and joy, but I'm afraid that instead I've waddled around oof-ing, issuing ultimatums, desperately tidying, crying my way through books and movies and generally being hormonal.
A couple of nights ago I was so hopeful that you were on the way - the braxton hicks were reasonably strong and coming at a regular ten minutes apart - but I fell asleep and when I woke up they'd evaporated… And it was such a lovely cool, rainy night, perfect for your arrival! The first truly autumnal night of the year.
I am so glad that autumn has finally arrived, just in time for you. Today was one of those perfect blue-sky autumn days, with the world misted over in the morning, then magically clearing into crisp and bright, all blue skies and lovely autumn-leaf hues.
The nights and mornings are finally chilly and we're all wearing socks and ugg boots and rugging up. Very soon we'll have to get the chimney sweep out and start having big fires again.
I can't help but be a little wistful that if you hadn't turned from breech you would have arrived by now… they most likely would have whisked you out today and you'd be here. I know it's much better you come in your own time and all… but the waiting is very hard!
I am savouring these last days of feeling you move inside me. It is very hard to think that I won't feel the little kick below my ribs again, that I won't be able to cup the little backside and feel the strange wriggles and rolls. Very soon you won't be apart of me - and while I am so so looking forward to seeing you - I am going to miss having you so close. I watch my tummy suddenly stick out in odd bumps, roll and jump and quiver and can't help smiling.
That's you in there, doing your gymnastics!
I am now incredibly slow and large and cumbersome. Rising from bed or a chair is a long business involving many groans and walking is awkward and ache-y. As you are taking up all the space where my lungs should be I become breathless climbing a few stairs and, as you are where my tummy should be, I am wary of all food in case of heartburn.
While I know I should be sleeping and storing energy, I need to stay up far later than I'd choose to avoid heartburn. Too sleepy to be productive, too afraid of heartburn to lie down - I'm reading a lot and watching One Born Every Minute and have just started watching Call the Midwife. I am considering knitting, except my previous attempts have not ended well.
Soon, little one, soon you will be out in the world, and we are so looking forward to meeting you!

This time last year...

9.30pm  28/7/10

My little one is maybe coming. I’ve had strong Braxton Hicks for the last few hours. They’re very nearly constant. I'm feeling unsettled. Sleepy. Listening to music, lighting candles. Had a lovely night walk, with all the family - husband, sister in law, mother in law, cousin in law.  The Sprocket fell asleep quickly and is sprawled out on the bed now, exhausted. 
I do hope this is my little one coming. My mother-in-law has to leave the country on Monday and its Thursday now and she does so want to see her before she has to go back to PNG. Besides which – I’m just so big and cumbersome… and I want to meet my daughter!

Everything is ready now – we’ve moved into the granny flat and it’s very perfect! 4 rooms instead of one makes a big difference! The rooms are all ready – the moses basket is all made up and my bags are packed and by the door.

Hmmm – a tightening. It seems stronger. I hope so. I really hope so! My daughter.

I love my son – more than anything in the world –but I do want a daughter. Of course I’ll be all set to do girly stuff and she’ll want to wear jeans and play with trucks, but that’s okay,  I’ll have a few months before she learns to say no.I've spent so long imagining her… 
I hope we’re up to two…

I should be sleeping now… resting, preparing… but I’m too unsettled…

I hope all goes well. I can’t help but be scared after the Sprocket’s birth. If we’d lived in the past the Sprocket and I would have died – my husband thought he was going to lose us both – but I’m sure this time will be different – my body knows what’s happening and I haven’t put on as much weight.

But if anything does happen I hope people make sure my Sprocket knows his mummy loved him more than the world twice over – that he brought joy and delight and wonder – and that my daughter knows we loved her from before conception.

So peaceful – restful… A quiet house and soft music... the night outside. I remember the night the Sprocket was born, a different season and state, but the same detached sort of feeling. I hope it starts raining soon. I love the sound of the rain, the smell of the rain. The name we have chosen for our daughter means rain at night.

Oh – lots of kicking.

I know when it’s over I’ll miss having the little one within me – the kicks and pulls and strange distortions – but so eager now to meet her – will she be like my husband or I? Or like the Sprocket?  It's so hard not to want a little female Sprocket. We know that we’ll love her for her own darling self – but the Sprocket is the centre of our world at the moment.

Our own little rose is on the way… I wish I knew if this were true or false! Is tonight the night? Or at least the beginning?

I told my husband it’s about a 1 in 10 chance of being tomorrow – he was going on the 1 in 20, but I pointed out that the early dates had all been ruled out – so the odds have gone up!

He’s gone to pick up his phone from his cousins and I gave him dire warnings about what would happen if things sped up and he wasn’t here!

What will she look like? How will she behave? I'm so excited – but still unbelieving...

I can feel movement down by my thighs, little fingers searching.

I think everything’s nearly ready… a few little bits and pieces… but nothing that can’t  be done while I’m in hospital.

O little one – we love you so – and are so anxious to meet you. At night I lie awake feeling you inside the round bulge of my tummy and imagining your tiny toes and fingers, your little nose and tiny mouth…

Do come, come soon, we all so want to meet you!