It’s 3am and I’m lying in bed willing myself to get some much-needed shuteye before our energetic 15-month-old wakes up. It’s now been six weeks of on and off winter sickness and not much sleep for all of us. Add the fact that I’m 33 weeks pregnant and to say I’m pretty knackered is an understatement.
But I’ve got pregnancy insomnia.
Why is it that when we most need sleep it’s often so hard to achieve? It’s such a cruel fact of life that pregnant women often suffer the worst insomnia, when we clearly need all the rest we can get.
My mind won’t stop racing and it’s frustrating the sh*t out of me. Apart from “Go the f*ck to sleep!”, my thoughts are all about how I’m going to cope when baby Number Two comes along. As time flies in the lead up to Number Two’s arrival I’m finding myself more and more frantic about the logistics of having two children under 18 months and increasingly sad that my time with just my little man is coming to an end.
When we found out we were pregnant again (and yes, to all those who always ask, we WERE trying) of course we felt so unbelievably blessed. We wanted to have our babies close together so it was perfect. But amongst the joy were some niggling feelings…
It’s all well and good thinking about a potential second baby in theory, but once that little extra line on the pregnancy test appears reality starts to bite. I thought I was prepared, but three words immediately came to mind – I’m. Not. Ready.
The joys of being a very nauseous pregnant woman changing a very full toddler nappy, of having him follow me into the bathroom every time I had to throw up, of needing to chase him around the house when all I wanted to do was lie on the couch and ‘die’, of him now being able to run right at the point when my waddle is slowing down to a elephant-like stagger and catching him running full tilt at the road or the ocean is next to impossible… These are all the things I never thought of.