A fairly alliterative word of the week post, brought to you by the letter W it would seem, although the overriding word has to be waiting. Today brings us to six days after our due date and the baby is still content to stay put. I keep reminding myself that anything up to 42 weeks is normal, but it has been such an odd week, such a strange feeling.
Each night I go to bed wondering if tomorrow will bring news, waking overnight and lying there trying to guess whether anything has changed, whether anything feels different, getting up each morning and accepting that things are just the same. It is hard not to watch every twinge, every tightening, hoping that it might possibly be the start of something. It is hard not to worry, which is generally my way, trying to reassure myself that the baby is safe and not focus on concerns that something might go wrong.
I have been doing lots of walking (and eating pineapple, making increasingly spicy curries, bouncing on a birthing ball, and following midwife advice trying acupressure and aromatherapy oils). We had a trip to the beach yesterday, and I took Millie and some music on a long walk across the fields on Friday (can you spot her in the above picture?!). It is tricky not to succumb to the sense that there is something I could, or should, be doing, and I am trying, but mostly failing, to not get frustrated at the inquiries from people pointing out that the baby has not arrived yet.
It has been wonderful to have my mum so close, to accompany me to appointments, take me out on spontaneous trips when it becomes clear that another empty day stretches ahead, and to give fabulous foot rubs too. Soon enough things will change, although I am trying to adjust to the idea that it may not happen spontaneously! Hopefully, this time next week I will have different news to share, but for now I wait, and wish, and wonder when we will finally meet our baby.