7 weeks to go

32 weeks today and feeling pretty good. Still a few aches and pains, which is normal I guess. I did think my back was much better until my massage yesterday. As soon as the therapist started rubbing the injured area I realised how much healing I have left to do. Still very sore.

I've lost my appetite which is strange. I don't remember that with Tobes, just the opposite in fact. The one thing I do still enjoy eating is a nice box of chocolates. So far I've worked my way through a box of Thorntons, a Cadbury Milk Tray and a Nestle Dairy Tray. I did have some help from Tobes and J but not a lot. I've been craving Lamme's Longhorns and Pralines but they don't deliver chocs until November. I've already briefed Mom and Dad to bring some over. Going to buy some more chocs today. Interestingly, even with the loss of appetite my weight gain continues apace. Funny that.

I've definitley felt a mental shift this weekend. The reality of the birth is starting to hit me. I've been thinking a lot about having two children, how we'll cope, how to help Tobes make the transition, even what to feed my parents while they're here. I haven't thought much about the fact that at some point in the next couple of months I'm going to be in a great deal of discomfort.

This dawning happened with Tobes too but it was much later. I remember describing it in Toby's pregnancy journal as knowing that I'm going to be hit by a bus sometime in the next few weeks. I'm going to be in a lot of pain and need time to recover. No idea exactly how or when it's going to happen... just that it's definitely going to happen. The bus is on its way.

I've also started remembering more details from the first few weeks with Toby. Details that my brain had very kindly kept in a locked box until now. Things like wearing cabbage leaves in my bra to help with the pain of breastfeeding. My boobs were so hot (and not in a good way) that the cabbage would soon wilt and start to stew. Mix that aroma with sour breastmilk and baby vomit and you've got a pretty toxic combination. I remember answering the door once to a deliveryman. He had woken me from a nap and I wasn't happy. He visibly flinched and took a step back when I opened the door and it wasn't until after he left that I looked in the mirror and saw the scowl on my exhausted face, the cabbage leaves hanging out of my tanktop and the breast pads which had ended up under my armpits. I was a real beauty.

I also got out some of Toby's newborn photos recently. I read that a good way to prepare your firstborn for the new baby is to look at photos of him as a newborn. So Tobes and I sat in the armchair in his room and worked our way through his baby book and box of photos. He was so gorgeous. For the first time I actually looked at myself in the photos too. Every other time that I've seen the images I just looked at the precious baby in my arms. This time I saw my face too.

There's one in particular that shocked me. There I am, holding Tobes and smiling. I look happy but completely and utterly shattered. There are big dark circles under my eyes, my lips are pale and flaky. Of course, I'm not wearing any make-up at all. My roots are over an inch long and my hair needs a wash. I'm wearing one of J's tops which doesn't fit me. I look like the survivor of some kind of disaster. Shell-shocked but happy to be alive. Then I looked at Tobes in the photo. He's fast asleep and looks so clean and satisfied. He's wearing a perfectly clean white Tshirt and is wrapped in a little blanket. He's all pink and healthy and content.

I also remember something that I read just before Tobes was born. It kept running through my mind during those first few weeks. It was an article about torture techniques used in war. The first thing that torturers do is keep the prisoner awake so they have serious sleep deprivation. This induces a form of psychosis. Then they make constant, repetitive demands of the prisoner in order to wear them down and play regular high-pitched sounds which affect the prisoner's central nervous system. As I did my fifth load of laundry or washed my thousandth bottle in a day, leaning over the machine or sink because I was too exhausted to stand upright as Tobes (who was usually in his sling on my chest) screamed in my ear I often thought of those prisoners of war and mentally raised a hand in recognition of their sufferering.

The funny thing is that here I am, about to do it all again and this time with a three year old in tow too. Perhaps the sleep deprived psychosis hasn't worn off yet or perhaps it's just that look of plump sleepy satisfaction on Toby's newborn face that makes it all worth while.