Gosh this pregnancy is going quickly. On Tuesday we'll be half way. 20 weeks. The count up ends and the count down starts.
As the count down looms I start to think about all those concerns I've heard from the lips of second timers... How will it be humanly possible to love another the way I love her? Will I be able to stretch myself? How do I communicate to Euna that I still love her? What will she think of the new baby?
And I haven't even touched on the world of questions relating to the new baby! Boy or girl? Can I even do boys? I mean... Willies! Seriously? Easier or harder birth? Where will I give birth? And of course... Oh-bloody-hell-I-know-it's-gonna-hurt panic attack.
I think back to pre-Euna. I literally had no idea what motherhood would serve up. I had very little faith in my ability in it. To the point when I was about 36 weeks pregnant I went to get some food shopping. Whilst I waddled around Sainsburys it hit me that the baby could come any day and this could be my last opportunity to shop for food... Maybe last ever. I'd never heard of young families starving to death in their own homes due to colic-y babies or breastfeeding issues. But maybe that's because they still haven't found the bodies.
£300 later I got home with every variety of non-perishable food you can think of and about 50 toilet rolls. Despite having a reasonably generous amount of kitchen cupboard space the food wouldn't fit. Tins, jars and packets sat on the sides for weeks before they diminished slowly.
Ironically we ended up in Sainsburys the day after Euna was born. High off baby making hormones we fumbled with the car seat straps and rocked up for that night's dinner and cakes for the hoards of visitors.
Moral = we were fine, shopping was possible.
I am sure a more religious person that I would have a very elegant quote on faith to insert here. I have a hormonal in a supermarket story.
It's going to be fine. We're going to be fine. Maybe even wonderful. Maybe.