Today was my due date for baby number three. I think I knew this morning that I’d be going to bed still pregnant, but I’m one of life’s optimists so there was always that little bit of hope. I’ve been preoccupied for the last couple of days with thoughts of impending labour, the tough few weeks ahead and how our family dynamic is going to change and also I’ve been fairly impatient in waiting for this baby.
My husband asked me tonight if I might look back on these past few days with a hint of regret, wishing away what is left of my last pregnancy. We are done at three, that much is certain. I though about what he’d said and wondered if maybe I am being a tad too impatient, if I’m missing out in some way by being so keen to get the pregnancy over with. But actually I don’t think so. I won’t be able to feel this little person kicking away at me for very much longer, that’s true, but I will be able to see him, to hold him and to get to know him. I know there’s the small matter of actually getting him here, but I’m glossing over that in my mind.
What will he look like, I wonder. His brothers don’t really look like one another so it’s hard to guess. He might look like one or the other, or neither! Will he be kind, sensitive and thoughtful like his oldest brother, or cheeky and fearless like the other? A mixture of the two, perhaps. However things turn out, our house is set to become even busier in the coming days, and considerably louder, messier and more fun in the coming years.