I absolutely hate being managed by my moods.  Yesterday I was full of happiness and hope, having had a fantastic day with family and friends and being thoroughly spoilt with a mixture of material things and love. I went to bed feeling positive about next few weeks, particularly focussed on how to tackle the mountain of work I have to complete before I leave.  I had it all sorted, and I couldn’t wait for today to arrive so I could crack on and make some progress.

So what happened? What changed during the twilight hours that have left me feeling bereft, drained, emotional and hopeless? Where did the focus go that would have stopped me from sitting here in my pyjamas staring at a laptop screen and praying for something to click? The emptiness I feel this morning is only temporarily quelled when the tears flow. It’s as though the tears take some of the hollow feeling with them. For a minute. Perhaps this is just an anti-climax? After all the attention and loveliness of my birthday yesterday, today feels bare in comparison?  No, surely not. This is more than that.

Yesterday my old ‘friend’ Ant watched from the sidelines as I smiled and laughed my way through my milestone birthday.  Growing increasingly annoyed at not being invited to join in the celebrations, she waited.  She looked on silently, lurking in the shadows, whilst I took a quiet hour with me and my bump after everyone had gone to bed.  When I climbed the stairs to bed, I was far too tired to notice the familiar footsteps behind me. But she was there, because she found her way into my mind as I slept and breathed her best into my dreams.  

Do you ever have those dreams that are so real that you awake feeling like you have lived through it? The dreams she gave me last night were like that.  I had 2 vivid dreams, although as the hours pass this morning the details are becoming more fuzzy. In one, for reasons unknown, my husband left. No explanation, no goodbyes, just disappeared. He wouldn’t answer my texts or calls, did not respond to any of the voicemails I left, despite the desperate pleas for him to contact me, to come home. Like in a movie, I could see him, so I knew he wasn’t in danger or hurt.  He had just started a new life somewhere else, somewhere without me. Why? Why would he leave me like that? When I woke up I just wanted to touch him to make sure he really was still there, and to hold him and beg him not to leave me alone. As I write, fresh tears are rolling down my face. How can a dream have this effect on a person? Damn she’s good! It seems she is even more effective through the night. 

There were lots of other strange details in the dream that are a bit more vague than the general message of being abandoned.  I remember mud, lots of mud. And I remember an official looking man who kept letting himself into my home where he would rearrange the furniture back to how it was before we started preparing for the impending arrival. I’m trying to push those things to the back of my mind because my over-thinking analytical brain is already hinting at what those images could mean, and I can’t let those thoughts permeate, not this close to the ‘end’.

The second dream is one I’m not sure I even want to commit to paper. It feels like an omen that would dare to become reality if I were to give it my words. What I will say is that hearing my daughter jump out of bed this morning filled me with the hugest sense of relief, as I had been battling for over an hour with an overwhelming need to go into her room to check she was ok.  Frozen to the spot where I laid, feeling the desire to check on her but too frightened to go in, just in case…

I thought I’d managed to put her down. Put her into a place where I could at least keep an eye on her, and keep her quiet. Her voice has certainly been muffled for a while. Why then, after having such a wonderful day did I allow her to remove the muzzle? I clearly let my guard down, and distracted by the events of the day she managed to set herself free.  Well she definitely made an impression.  And I can only hope that somewhere within me I can find the strength to put her back down. But I’m alone today, and being alone doesn’t usually put me in a position of strength to fight.

Tomorrow is my 40th birthday.  I remember when I was young and I thought 40 was like really old! Now I’m nearly there I’m not sure whether I feel old or not.  I don’t think I have felt a particular age since I was about 27.  That was a good age.  Maybe because it was the last time I was me. Before I was a wife, before I became a mother. 
I’ve had lots of good years though. Some not so good, some wasted, some altogether unmemorable. But lots of good ones definitely.  My 39th year was going to be the best year! I was going to embrace turning 40 by running at it with all the gusto of the 27 year old me.  I decided that I was going to make my 39th year count and would make sure that I was fabulous at 40. I would take chances, travel, be spontaneous.  I would make a list of things to do before I turned 40 and tick them off one by one. Time with friends.  Making memories with family. Dates with my husband! It was going to be great. 

It started great.  It started with a weekend trip with my best friend.  A trip that began as an idea for a UK overnight stay and a bit of retail therapy and ended up being 4 days in Rome! It was amazing! We had the most wonderful time seeing some amazing sights, chilling, drinking prossecco, eating rustic Italian food and truly immersing ourselves in that beautiful inspiring place.  Ah Rome! I loved Rome! 

That’s where the travel bug began – how many more beautiful cities were there to explore? I made a list – places to see with friends, places to take the children, romantic cities to visit with my husband.  

We booked a family holiday to the Canary Islands in April with my little family and my parents, where the kids frolicked in the pool and we kicked back in the sunshine.  In May I took my daughter to her first music concert at The O2, and spent a lovely weekend together, just her and me, in London. First class travel and a great hotel. It was wonderful. Then a week later I took her to see One Direction in Manchester and had another amazing girly weekend together (she’s a good kid, she deserved to be spoiled just this once!).  The Summer saw me and my best friend off to Tunisia, this time with the kids, for a week of relaxing in the sun, and when we returned to the UK my husband and I surprised the kids with a trip to Disneyland Paris.  Halfway through the year, and oh my hadn’t it been a wonderful year so far. And although we still had half the year left and a whole host of things to experience, we had already booked the finale – 2 blissful weeks in The Maldives to celebrate my 40th birthday as a family. 

2 days after our return from Paris, we met with friends for a drink in the local wine bar. As we sat and talked I joked about how I’d had a dream that I had to cancel our Maldives trip because I was pregnant. Friends fought over who should take my place! Ha, it was funny.  And even though I’d missed my period, and I had felt unusually tired walking around Paris, I also knew that the only time my husband and I had made a ‘mistake’ I had quickly recitified it with a visit to my doctor for the morning after pill.  So that was not something to be concerned about was it.  

Next morning I was hit with an awful nausea – but I knew it wasn’t the prossecco.  I knew exactly what it was, but I told myself I was being paranoid. But I took a test anyway and my wonderful year ended as soon as that little blue line appeared.   I was 7 weeks pregnant! Christ! How had I missed that!  

If you’ve read any of my posts you will have a good idea about how I felt about it. My amazing year had been completely pissed all over because of one silly mistake.  I’d ruined everything.  Not just my plans, but I’d blown the promotion of a lifetime that I was on the brink of being offered. I fell into a deep despair and depression, and I guess I spent the best part of the next couple of months a walking basket case. I entered a darkness that I had not seen in a long time, and my old friend ‘Ant’ regained her previously held position of power. Nothing was in my control. And the more I realised how little control I had over my life, the more obsessed I became with death. I was going to die, the baby was going to die, my husband was going to die, and if none of that happened, one or both of my other children would die. Every TV programme that featured death was a sign. Every tragic Facebook post, a sign. Every solo magpie, a sign. I had sentenced myself to misery one way or another.

And here I am, on the eve of my 40th birthday! Today the refund from the canceled Maldives holiday was paid into my bank account, marking a definite end to this marvellous year. I don’t know if we will ever make it there again. But, in 6 weeks my baby girl is due to enter this world and become a part of my life.  A life that held such promise to be wonderful, measured by a wonderfully exciting year.  My 39th year – the best year of my life! And do you know, although there are times I mourn for the exciting adventures I was going to have, and times when I view the impending arrival with nonchalance and practicality, I have as many (if not more) moments when I wonder if maybe this baby is THE most wonderful  event of my 39th year? A year that promised to be the best year of my life may just still have been, but for a different, unexpected reason.  

And so I no longer see this as a mistake.  I think this might just be a miracle.

So, good old ‘Ant’ is back, and not content with making me worry about the present (mainly because I’ve managed to knock her down on that score) she’s moved onto trying to wreck my future before it has even happened.

I know that I am getting on a bit to be having another child (40 on Thursday). Trust me, this wasn’t in the plan!! But it seems that all the medical professionals feel the need to remind me how ancient I am at every appointment. Most recently being told that it was unlikely I’d be allowed to go too far past the due date as the risk of stillbirth increases after the age of 40. Thanks for that consultant! It’s ok, no it’s fine, I didn’t have anything else to worry about!!! 😏

I hadn’t really worried too much about my age. I’m pretty young at heart, and I know 40 isn’t old at all (despite thinking that was ancient when I was younger lol). But all this negativity about my age has started me thinking about the future and I have Ant there to tell me that I might not even be around to see my youngest daughter get married. If she waits until she’s 30 like I did, I’ll be 70. Heck, I might not even be here! Or at best I could be walking her down the aisle with the aid of a Zimmer frame! If I’m too old, or not around to see her get married, it is likely I’ll never see her have children. If she has a child at my age, I’ll be 80 and won’t be able to help her like I should be able to.

I know it’s silly to think that way – who knows when any of our numbers will come up? While I’m busy worrying about what might happen in 20 years from now, the man upstairs might be plotting for me to get hit by a bus tomorrow!! No point wasting precious moments in today concerning myself with tomorrow. Easily said than done though isn’t it. Plus, Ant’s voice seems to have been getting a bit louder these days…

I’m scared. I’ve got so many thoughts running through my head about delivering my baby, none of which have a happy ending. I’m scared that if I don’t write them down, these thoughts will drive me mad over the next 7 weeks. I’m scared that if I do write them down I’ll be creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Want to know what I’m scared about? If you are in the later stages of pregnancy you’ve probably thought these things yourself, but I doubt you’d tell the world! I guess the only response we can expect to receive would be along the lines of “there’s nothing you can do about it so there’s no point worrying”, “don’t be silly, you’re going to be fine”, “you were fine with the first two”. Yeah, well none of that scares the worry away.

So what am I actually scared of?

I am scared there will be something wrong with my baby. That they’ve missed something important on previous scans, or that there is an underlying issue that won’t be picked up until after she is here.

I am scared about not being able to control when I go into labour. Scared that I won’t be ready, that I will be in the wrong place at the wrong time, scared that no-one will be there with me.

I am scared that I won’t be able to do it. What if she gets stuck in there like my first child? What if I just don’t have it in me to push her out?

I’m scared that if I am able to do it, something is going to go wrong and my baby won’t survive it.

I am scared that if I am able to do it, something is going to go wrong and I won’t survive it.

I am scared that it will all happen too quickly for them to get the IV antibiotics into my system and my baby will be taken from me before I can hold her (reference Group B Strep).

I am scared that I may have to have a planned Caesarian Section if my placenta is still low-lying. The idea of going under the knife petrifies me.

The possible C-Section brings with it a whole host of other fears…

I am scared that under local anaesthetic I will not be able to handle what is happening to me.

I am scared that under General anaesthetic I won’t wake up.

I am scared that if they take my baby away and I can’t hold her and feed her like I did after my 2 natural births that I won’t bond with her and I may trigger the return of an old enemy (reference post-natal depression).

I am consumed by an overwhelming fear that something will happen to my baby and I will never experience the fruits of the last 9 months. And I am scared that if something happens to me, I will never see my family again.

There, I’ve said it. Do I feel better? Nope. Tears are now pricking at the corners of my eyes as I realise just how many catastrophic thoughts have been running riot in my head. No wonder I am exhausted! I’m sure these are all natural worries, that a lot of expectant mothers have some or all of these concerns at one time or another. I’m not special or unique. And what percentage of those mothers go on to have straightforward deliveries, beautiful babies and survive the ordeal?!

But my old friend ‘Ant’ is back (reference Automatic Negative Thoughts) and she’s telling me the good times are up…

This has to be the most surreal of my pregnancies. Perhaps because I am older? Or perhaps because it wasn’t in the plan? All I know is that even though I have a spare room full of baby things and a Moses basket all dressed and waiting for someone to fill it, I still look down at my belly and can’t quite believe there is a baby in there. I’ve gone through a number of emotional stages in this pregnancy. First trimester was basically pure panic , distress and breakdowns! Second trimester I found some calm and actually started to get excited about what was to be. Third trimester. Well I don’t know what to say. It’s like a kind of surreal nothing kind of feeling. Almost a practical reaction, like I know what has to be done (no going back now!), but still can’t get my head round the fact that there is a baby in there!

Tonight at the dinner table, my 5-yr old son asked “Mummy, why did we have to get another baby?” Tears pricked my eyes as I wracked my brain for an answer. What the heck should I say to that? Why did we have to get another one? And the wording was so apt – we did just seem to ‘get’ this one. We didn’t ask for it, we just got it. I guess that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I mean some of the best presents are surprises; things we didn’t ask for.

Anyway, whereas at the start I would have over-analysed and beaten myself up over how I feel and why I feel it, I’m just happy to accept that I feel how I feel. There’s no deeper meaning. It doesn’t mean I won’t be happy. It doesn’t mean I’ll love this baby any less than she deserves me to. And I might feel different tomorrow, because that’s the thing about feelings. They come and they go. They don’t always need that much attention. Just accept them for what they are and see what tomorrow brings ☺️

I have no idea why I feel different today. Nothing has changed, nothing has happened. And yet today I find myself low of mood and close to tears. I have a conference call in 20 minutes; I can’t be bothered. I have another call right after that; I can’t be bothered. I need to go to the chemist to pick up a prescription; I can’t be bothered.

I think I’m just worn out. Worn out by the stresses of work, worn out by the stresses put upon me by other people who seem to think it’s my job to fix them, worn out in general.

People will tell me it’s my hormones. They’ll tell me I’m doing too much, that I should slow down, not take so much on. They’ll tell me I’m unwell and perhaps I need to see my doctor or my midwife. None of them will think about whether it might actually be them that are causing some of this exhaustion!

Mentally exhausted from dealing with the insecurities of others. Did anyone notice that I have issues of my own to deal with whilst they were looking to me to repair theirs??