The third. And final. And scariest.

I’m in the last weeks of countdown until I finally squeeze out this watermelon I have been carrying around for a bit more than seven months. Yep we are having our third baby, and most definitely our last. It is my fifth pregnancy and by far and away the most difficult and stressful. Not only do I feel like a baby kangaroo will spill out in the delivery room when I eventually get there, but I feel like I have been pregnant for about two years, and have been a giant, out-of-breath, vein popping, cranky bitch for most of that time.

You see, (or if you have three or more children – you remember), there are lots of things that have made this time around harder and most can be summed up with the words fear and impatience. This time there are a few complications, I am older, oh yeah and I have two spirited little adventure seekers I am responsible for twenty-four-seven, that make this tough going. There is no rest. There is no exercise. There is no down time given my husbands extraordinary work hours. And goddamit – there is no alcohol. I am relying entirely on my own sheer will to grow this baby, which is why I am absolutely terrified.

I’m scared about having to have this baby five weeks early and have it in special care and be needed at home to look after my boys.

I’m scared about waking up in the middle of the night and not knowing who will look after them while we head into the hospital.

I’m scared about being even more tired than I am now. Although given I’m still up every night a fair bit and I cope – not well – but I cope, maybe this will be the least of my problems.

I’m scared about physically not being able to care for my family because of stitches and swelling and exhaustion, or maybe having to ask for help because I cant do it all myself.

I’m scared of being a shit mum to another kid when some days I think all I have done is tell my other two kids off for being naughty or noisy or rough or rude all day.

I’m scared of labour, and the next twelve hours, and the third day.

I’m scared of this being too much for me and expending the little bit of energy I have left for fun with my beautiful boys on surviving.

I’m scared of struggling to stay positive and grateful and inspired and calm.

But we will be okay. We never really know what we are capable of until we do it. The boys are excited. It gives my husband as excuse to have some time off. And third time lucky with my parenting!

Now if you can just give me some tips for names for the joey, I’m right to go.




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