I’ve just eaten some celebratory chocolate.
This chocolate (and as you all know, I’m quite partial to a piece or four on any regular day) was very much celebrated if only for the fact that it meant I was home and able to eat it. Not at the hospital. Having a baby. Early.
I’ve just had a little bout of false labour at thirty-four weeks pregnant, which was a little too real for comfort, to be frank. Because, although most google-able literature states that babies born this far along generally do okay with a little help, I’m more of a ‘let’s be absolutely, totally sure’ kind of a girl.
And so, now, looking back at the achy little while gone by, I hush my babe back to rest and find peace again in its sweet, stretchy movements; contractions put away, hopefully for weeks beyond this day.
I can’t wait to meet our beautiful little baby.
But actually…I really do think I can wait.