Now I’m not going to write every day, lamenting my lack of progress and a cervix that is clearly sat on a sofa somewhere, munching Doritos. That would be boring. And there’s not much to say aside from ‘yep, STILL fucking pregnant’ which I get out of my system at work every morning anyway when I stomp through the door and they express collective amazement that anybody my size could still be walking and that the babies haven’t just sort of ripped their way out by now, alien-style. But I’ve also never gone overdue before and possibly never will again, definitely not with twins, so I wanted to record some of my thoughts and feelings before labour happens and it is all sucked in to the blur.
They are late. Yesterday I turned forty weeks pregnant and woke up so disappointed. It was silly of me to get my hopes up but I was so mentally set on this idea that they wouldn’t go to term, and then with a full moon that night I was sure that I would wake up in labour. I could have cried when I had a perfect, uninterrupted night of sleep and woke up to my alarm in the morning.
I have been trying to remind myself that nobody remains pregnant forever. That even if it is a few more days, I’m not going to gestate them through Kindergarten. Babies come out. (They do always come out – right?)
But I’m nervous about the wait. Nervous about what they are doing in where, whether my tired, overdue placentas are enough for them, whether their movements today are as constant and as vigorous as their movements yesterday. Nervous about how long it will take. Nervous about the intervals between medical appointments, although these have just been ramped right up. And I know that I started this pregnancy quite mistrustful of the NHS in general but here’s what I will say: my team have been phenomenal. We are in good hands.
This is what we know right now: For now, the girls are fine. I had an appointment with an obstetrician yesterday and she accompanied me to a scan where we checked on them and their immediate environment, and they are well. There is no reason to believe that my placentas will suddenly fail. They are getting adequate nourishment and oxygen. And this is reflected in their movements which are, in a word, insane – have you ever seen full-term twins squirming around under a thin layer of mother? The extent to which their limbs can poke out is unreal.
We are ok for now. Just impatient. Just anxious. And I’m so glad that we imposed our little pre-babymoon a few weeks back because I cannot deal with other people’s excitement and anxiety right now on top of our own, when everything grates on me like I’m skinless. I’m still working full-time – I need the distraction – and my two days of weekend are so precious right now, I find myself treasuring every hour in a way that I never have before. The hours where I’m hormonal and close to tears and hiding in the bath, the hours sat in the gsrden with the breeze playing with my hair and my toddlers making me laugh, the quick pootles out to the shops or the park. Uninterrupted hours with Kirsty, morning snuggles with my dog. The boys showing me all of the things they’ve learned through the week, the girls wriggling away because they’ve heard Kirsty’s voice.
It’s strange to be overdue, when I barely knew that twins could go overdue and thought for sure that mine couldn’t. But it’s ok. We are ok. They can’t stay in there forever.
And it might be quite amusing to measure the equivalent of fifty weeks pregnant with a singleton before the end.