The Mummy-Diaries 1.5
How I’m feeling heading into my final few weeks - the second time around
It’s New Years Day, and I just dropped my daughter off at the local crèche she likes to play at for an hour, so I can do my invoice reconciliation for my accounts team, who have been persistently chasing me since November to complete this incredibly mundane task.
It’s not so much about the task itself - my daughter caught the super flu that is going around the UK, and spent most of December home from nursery, and I’m giving birth in 2 weeks from now, and also broke my toe right before Christmas. So things have been.. well.. harder than they probably should be.
I’ve just found a cosy spot in a work space, ordered some sparkling water, and took my coat off - I’m living in a beige coloured Toteme wrap wool coat for these last few weeks, and cashmere dresses to keep warm, covered and as comfortable as I possibly can.
I got dressed late, and threw on a black cashmere Hermès knit dress that is knee length, so it covers any sort of fear of the bump being exposed, and a classic green light cashmere Hermès shawl to protect me from the elements and also with the hope of hiding my makeup-less, exhausted and swollen face from normal, functioning humans.
I just started working on a gown edit for a client, who has asked for four of the same brief in the last six months, and hasn’t actually bought a single gown as of yet, when a woman gets up close to me and comes over. At first I didn’t even look up, thinking she’s just edging past to leave the work space, but she bends down and with what in the moment feels like a judgemental, entitled look on her face tells me that I have a tag hanging out on the side of my dress.
I feel down my left side instinctively, and she lets me know that it is in fact on the back, right and fairly obvious. My mind initially goes to the stickers my daughter has been distributing to everyone in the household, including our golden retriever, and say ‘oh it must just be a Christmas sticker’ and the woman looks at me and goes ‘no. it’s a washing label. I just wanted to let you know.’
And she was right. I am wearing my Hermès cashmere knit dress completely inside out- not only inside out in fact, but also back to front (that bit is hidden by the shawl covering the front of my dress and my unkept, unbrushed now waist length (due to lack of hair appointment) hair covering the back).
I thank her quietly, but then all gowns on my screen start looking the same and slightly blurry, and tears fill my already swollen eyes. Why am I crying?
My order of eggs Florentine arrive at the low, wooden table, and as I take my first bite, the hollandaise sauce spills all down the front of my ginormous belly, on the cashmere dress. The waitress didn’t bring me a napkin, and now I’m too embarrassed (and frankly unable to in my ultra-pregnant state) to get up and ask for one, or get one myself. So I’m trying to twist my upper body to flag down someone for a napkin, all whilst my tag is hanging out, and my belly is covered in hollandaise and spinach, and my eyes are swelling with tears.
What the fuck.
The English muffin of the Florentine is over toasted and harder than it usually is. Or maybe my mouth is dry and weird? I can’t tell. I cry again. Now my mind is spiralling whether or not to send the Florentine back, but I’m digging in and almost done with the eggs, so I can’t really now anymore.
Meanwhile I’m annoyed that I haven’t finished the gown edit, and worried that I won’t have time tomorrow, and will leave the client waiting. I used to have much better work ethic than this, I used to be on the ball 24/7, hammering out edits left right and centre all whilst sipping my first coffee of the day. Who is this person sitting on the sunken sofa at the low wooden table? Swollen and crying.
So here’s the thing about being pregnant; hormonal fluctuations, estrogen and progesterone levels reaching their ultimate peak impacting mood-regulating neurotransmitters like serotonin, lack of sleep, discomfort and feeling overwhelmed means it’s no surprise that these last few weeks are pretty crap.
Social media doesn’t make things any better, seeing mom’s in their last few days before giving birth either slut dropping and ‘dancing the baby out’ to TikTok songs, or looking cosy and chic, wrapped up in something elegant and sipping a beautiful hot beverage in an aesthetically pleasing cafe or a perfectly tidied up and styled living room, makes those of us who feel their legs can no longer support the weight of their body and prescription heartburn medication has become a daily must feel like we’re failing.
Failing perhaps at enjoying the last moments of pregnancy, those last few kicks providing a safe and comfortable home for our babies inside our magical bodies.
Trying to wake up every morning and tell myself; you’re doing the best you can, so you’re doing great. Every journey is different, as every baby is different. You are strong, you got this. And most importantly; it’s almost over!