My Third Trimester Update or Oh My God Help Me I Can’t Get Out Of Bed I’m Like A Turtle That’s Fallen On It’s Back.

I’m not even going to bother telling you about the high hopes I had for this blog during my pregnancy.

Weekly updates, arty bump shots and flat lays of sleepsuits were on the to-do list.

Being gifted a Sleepyhead because I’d become the world’s best blogger in the space of six months. Being able to hand my notice in at work because I’m a writer now, don’t you know, and then spend the next three years writing novels and posting Instagram stories about the juggle struggle.

But like I said, I’m not even going to delve into that because it didn’t bloody happen, did it!

Hayley standing with a 30 week bump, in front of a very messy unmade bed.
Note to self for any possible future pregnancies: make the bed before taking bump photos.

Turns out growing a person when simultaneously looking after another person is tiring. Throw in trying to stop a house from resembling the Twits’ hovel and work/appointments and it all becomes proper hard work.

I’m now 35 weeks pregnant and am well into the third trimester or home stretch of this ol’ pregnancy. To the point where my daily email updates I excitedly signed up for at 6 weeks pregnant have become rather boring. They just tell me the baby is slightly bigger than she was yesterday, and the countdown has sparked an existential crisis in my husband.

I’d say the second half of the second trimester was the breeziest bit of this pregnancy by far. I was enjoying bobbing around with a decent sized bump, where I was able to give my tummy the occasional rub in public without looking like I was appreciating my post-McDonalds bloat but hadn’t yet transformed into the actual beachball on legs that I’ve turned into now.

Strolling around John Lewis rocking bedside cribs like I know what I’m doing and pushing pretend babies around in pushchairs was great fun.

The third trimester consists of actually sorting and finalising things for the tiny person’s arrival. It involves IRONING. I ironed clothes the other day for approximately the first time in about 18 months. I don’t even iron Elliot’s school polo tops, I just put his jumper over the top and give him an extra tight hug as he goes through the gate in the hope that his body heat will press the creases out.

(If I’m being brutally honest, I only ironed because I thought I’d get judged for creased babygrows. I didn’t iron the vests. No-one really sees them.)

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I’ve also been packing hospital bags (after a scary afternoon a month ago where I thought baby was coming a bit too soon and spent a fun few hours being monitored at the hospital.) All I could think about as I laid there was the fact that I’d packed NOTHING. All we had for this baby was some unironed baby vests and a pack of maternity pads thrown in an Aldi bag for life at the top of the stairs.

Luckily baby is still safely enclosed, the maternity pads and baby vests are now organised into packing cubes and individually labelled ziploc bags and we are almost ready to rock and roll.

The few hours I spent laying in the Maternity Assessment Unit of my local hospital spurred me on to really get revising on my hypnobirthing practise. I’ve started reading and watching videos religiously, and regularly give my husband updates on the vagina-related facts I’ve learnt that day.  If you feel like you’re missing out, please don’t as I am currently drafting up a post about hypnobirthing to post in the next few weeks.

See you for my next post..which will inevitably be this baby’s 3 Year Update or something ridiculous…

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