“Patience, n. A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue.” Ambrose Bierce
Patience is something I currently possess in very limited quantities. Quite unreasonably really. Baby number two is not even due until 4th July but somehow I had figured it would be here already.
And I feel a bit cheated.
I have hit that end-stage of pregnancy where I have had enough.
I am sick…a lot.
I am mahoosive.
I am ridiculously hormonal and daren’t watch anything remotely serious for fear of the floods of tears that will follow. I bawled my eyes out at Question Time last week. FFS.
I am fully aware that all of this is entirely insane and am doing my best to conceal much of this irrational behaviour from Mr B who, as ever, has been brilliant and is taking it all in his stride.
My facebook page followers will know that I was admitted to hospital for a bit due to a sideways swimming baby. Had that situation remained I would have undergone a c-section last Thursday.
I think this is perhaps why my patience has run out so fast.
I figured I would be home with my baby by now.
Whilst I am hugely grateful that this was not required, and there is currently still a chance of a normal delivery, I just wish we could hurry things along a bit.
I want to meet my baby.
I also want to know that everything is ok. That he/she is strong and healthy.
The longer I wait the more I begin to panic.
I told you I was a bit insane.
I apologise for these ramblings.
I am in a minor state of despair that I am not disguising terribly well.
I am going to be brave and turn the telly on. Murder She Wrote is on in a minute. That has gotta be a safe bet right?
“I’m extraordinarily patient, provided I get my own way in the end.” Margaret Thatcher