One of the Mamamia team is pregnant. And she’s been keeping it a secret until now …
For more than 30 weeks I’ve been keeping a secret.
I’m pregnant. With child. Knocked up. Got a bun in the oven. Up the duff. In the pudding club. On stork watch. Preggers. In the family way. That’s right, in less than 2 months I’m due to have another baby and I couldn’t be, well, more terrified. Not just of how I’m going to cope with having three children under five (Well hello, Mr Gin Bottle) but of this pregnancy itself.
Which is precisely why I haven’t told people – most people – until now.
For me, being pregnant is something of a rollercoaster ride with more stomach-churning drops than exhilarating peaks. It is – for the most part – a white-knuckle experience where faith is my seatbelt and hope, the safety rail. And I’ve struggled in this pregnancy – more so than any other – to allow myself to believe that it’s real. That at the end of it I will have a healthy, happy, very much alive baby in my arms that I get to take home.
And I suspect that feeling of being scared to let yourself relax is probably true for anybody who has lost a pregnancy. Lost a child.
Of course it wasn’t always that way.