It only seems like yesterday it was New Year’s Day, I was sobbing in the bath wondering what direction my life was going in. Feeling incomplete, a failure, broken and exhausted.
Fast forward to today. I’m preparing my hospital bag for Monday, washing and ironing all Baby Bloomer’s tiny outfits ready for his arrival in the next few weeks. I often finding myself just sitting in his nursery, talking to my ever-expanding bump, telling him how much we can’t wait to meet him.
I was hopeful this time would come. I had faith. But part of me resigned to the fact that I might not ever reach this point. Now it’s here I feel completely unqualified to become a mother. At times I feel like an imposter in my own life. Albeit a grateful, excited, slightly apprehensive imposter.
It’s a completely alien feeling to be head over heels in love with someone you have never met. You communicate in regular reminders that his home is getting increasingly cramped by the day. You already know his sleeping pattern, the foods he likes and dislikes, the music he enjoys listening to. You know deep in your heart that you’ll never love anything or anyone as much as you love the tiny human growing inside you.
It’s been 49 weeks since I published that New Year blog post. 49 weeks since I wrote the following: “’2020 is going to be my year’ I keep telling myself. But what if it’s not? What if I’m sat in the bath January 1st 2021 writing the same ‘woe is me’ post because abso-bloody-lutely nothing has changed once again?” Little did I know just how much would change and how quickly. Life certainly does come at you fast right?