I think it’s time for one of those ‘up close and personal’ posts. I realised this morning that I never really said much at the time about how Oliver’s unexpected early arrival affected me. I guess that’s mainly because I didn’t think it had. However, as thoughts of a second child are featuring ever more prominently in our minds recently, I’ve realised that actually… it really did.
I am terrified – yes – terrified of having another baby early. Earlier than Oliver. I know that babies being born at 34 weeks is not usually a problem but what about 33 weeks? 30? 28? Or worse?
Nobody knows why this happened to me, why my body (and Oliver!) decided to do what they did. From what I understand, cervical incompetence (or whatever it’s called these days) is unlikely to be the cause as I would not have carried as far as 34 weeks with that. Please anyone, correct me on that if I’m wrong. This is my main fear as I know it will just keep happening and happening if this is the case. After Oliver was born, nobody seemed overly concerned with the prematurity aspect of my labour, no-one really spoke to me about it and because I was so wrapped up in my new baby, it never occurred to me to ask.
It’s only now, with the prospect of another pregnancy potentially (hopefully!?) in my near future, that I’ve realised how much I wish I’d asked those questions.
How I wish someone had taken the time to talk to me about what had happened.
How scared I am that my body might do this again, and that I might not make it as far as 34 weeks next time.
That something could happen to my next baby and I won’t be able to do anything to stop it.
I know I could well be worrying for nothing and it could just have been a fluke. Next time I could carry right up to 42 weeks and wish that he or she would hurry up and get out (!) but I feel like where pregnancy and labour are concerned, sometimes my body seems to let me down. I haven’t had the best luck (or the worst by any means!) and now I feel like the fun and excitement of the whole process, including before pregnancy, has been spoiled for me.
A positive test now means little to me until I’ve had a scan confirming a location and a heartbeat.
I know right up until at least week 34 of my next pregnancy, I’ll be quietly panicking inside.
Sorry to sound whiny and ungrateful but where is fun and happiness in this for me now? I need to try and find it again but I’m not sure how.