This time last year I was in my last couple of weeks of pregnancy. My blood pressure was seriously low, I fainted often, was in pain, had acid reflux, could barely eat, was still sick, spent most of the day in bed, couldn't work, my hips were getting more and more loose, I needed crutches to walk, my bladder was on strike and I was extremely anaemic. I didn't know how I was going to last 12 more weeks.
But then I didn't have to. 2 more weeks was all I managed. My body gave up, I drifted in and of consciousness and stirred when I heard the words "we're going to have to deliver your baby now, we fear for your life."
I can't stand the thought of being pregnant now, I struggle to look at pregnant people, I think about my own pregnancy and shudder. I hate how the word pregnant looks and that I've written it so many times in this post. I know some people have the most wonderful time. The words bloom, blossom and radiant look so much nicer. Sound so much more enjoyable.
This time last year. Those words are on my lips and running through my mind on repeat at the moment, I shall be glad when these 12 weeks are over too, to get through the birthday, the NICU anniversary and up to the due date. And breathe a big sigh of relief, until next year, where I shall probably do it all again.
The thinking that it is. Not the P thing, that I shall never do again.