Mourning my former pregnant self
This time last year my maternity leave had just begun; I’d said “au revoir” to my work colleagues, we moved out of Brighton and settled into a rather cold house in Lewes. I was pregnant. Very pregnant. And rather fed up of being pregnant. I was a rotund penguin, stuck in a house at the top of the hill, worried to waddle down the hill in case my waters broke or I couldn’t make it back up.
I may have been fed up. I may have been huge. I may have been uncomfortable. But Readers, I was happy. So happy! So excited! The anticipation was almost too much to bear.
I had no idea what lay before me; the pain of childbirth, the fear of the pain, the joy of picking Busby up off the bed and holding her in my arms, swiftly followed by the terror of her turning purple as she stopped breathing! The relief when we heard her cry for the first time, the awe and wonder I felt with her in my arms again; pink and perfect.
The nappy changes.
The first bath.
The breast feeding issues.
The hernia saga!
The constant worry.
The overwhelming love.
This year I feel lost. There is a distinct lack of excitement. There is no anticipation.
I’m exhausted from juggling the “day job”, the freelancing, the wedding planning and my beautiful baby.
I feel very distant from Busby; she’s angry with me because I’m so tired, so distracted and away for two long days a week. She’s frequently favouring Nick over me; I’m finding it very upsetting. As I write this she has woken up and refused to be comforted by me. I feel betrayed. I feel like the betrayer.
I’m so exhausted that I’ve begun to not care. I’ve lost my mojo. My sense of self. I don’t have time to be “Hannah” at the moment.
I don’t know what suits my new body shape; clothes shopping is such a chore. I can’t work it out.
I’ve lost my best female friend. I got boring. She’s gone.
Despite being a hormonal rollercoaster this time last year, I was overjoyed; a bag of nervous, terrified, unsuspecting energy. Ready to bring my baby into the world.
I miss the excitement. I miss the anticipation of the unknown. I miss being pregnant.