9 months pregnant…and faking it

I’m nearly at the end of my pregnancy, and I have a confession to make…I’m faking it!
The laugh I make when you share a funny meme of how long the last trimester lasts, the excited face when you remind me that it’s ‘not long now’, the premonition of my 2 boys playing together. All of it. Totally fake.

The reality is that I’m frightened. Terrified. Still unconvinced that it’ll all go to plan.

The legacy of infertility and recurrent miscarriage is relentless mistrust in my body. Disbelief that it can do this, that I can do this, that I can deliver my baby safely.

This is the second time around. The 7th pregnancy, but the 2nd full termer. My experience of being this pregnant is positive. It ended in my beautiful son, it started my motherhood. The terror, that same terror I try so desperately to hide now, has all been experienced before, and has been proven wrong.

So why can’t I let it go?

Why can’t I relax? Why are the kicks, punches, and rolls in my tummy not enough to reassure me? Why aren’t the 2 weekly scans enough to ease my mind? Why is the growing bump not all the proof I need that he’s safe, and will be in my arms soon?

A number of weeks after my first son was born, I breathed a sigh of relief. A sigh of belief. A sigh, paired with the words, and the realisation that, ‘he’s mine, he’s here…and he’s not going anywhere’. The peace I found in that moment was both heavy and light. The burden was lifted, and the overwhelming love rushed in.

But here I am again; the same weight of fear, the same crushing disbelief, the same skepticism that this will, that this can, end well.

I suppose there will always be an automatic association of loss with pregnancy for me, a feeling of ‘faking it’ when talking about the exciting times ahead, an ominous guilt when anything remotely like a complaint of pregnancy discomfort enters my mind, let alone leaves my lips.

I hope, like with Harrison, that those feelings will fall away. That the fear of what could be will leave and make way for a love of what is. That hope, trust, and excitement, will become real and not just wished for.

I hope, against hope, that everything will go well and I’ll have the opportunity to be proven wrong in my fear.

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