Young mum of teenagers to geriatric and pregnant

Youngtooldmummy - 25 Aug 20

At 21 I was pregnant with my first son. At 25 I gave birth to my second. For 16 years I’ve been bringing up boys, mostly alone, facing the challenges and winging it through Thomas the Tank, Ben 10, homework, girls and competitions on which of them has the most pubic hair at aged 12 – like wtf.

At 38, I’m expecting baby number 3. An actual baby. A small human who I know will not sleep, who will need vaccinations and breastfeeding and peppa pig and toys at Christmas instead of iPhones and Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt’s.

My body is constantly reminding me of how pregnancy feels (like it was yesterday) with horrifically sore boobs (like don’t touch me or you’re done for boobs), waves of that crappy kind of nausea over nothing and tantrums over bacon (don’t even ask…)

In my 20s, I took it for granted that I’d have babies and I was so lucky to have had two beautiful bundles with no problems. Even though it came easy, I had so many anxieties on whether I’d cope, whether I’d be a good mum, work out the childcare, be able to breastfeed, deal with the labour. I worried so much about money, feeling lonely, fitting in, getting too fat.

In my 30s I’m here thinking what will be will be, the baby will fit in to the already established crazy home life of work and school and college and rugby training and we will crack on. They will be loved so much, my parenting skills will be as good as they can be and as long as they are fed and warm and safe and happy then in all honesty, bollocks to the rest of it. Course I’m going to get fat, I’m cooking an actual child and I’m almost 40. It’s a no brainier.

I must say, I’m more careful these days. Like I took folic acid for months before I saw the two lines, and every day now with a vitamin D, I exercise and rest when I need to and I eat as much nutritional food as my nausea will allow. So I’m giving it my all, perhaps because even though I feel fitter now than ever, that ‘38’ number is constantly there reminding me that taking my health for granted isn’t an option these days. I’ve kinda got to help myself along the journey.

People say you chill as you age and if anything this new chapter is teaching me, it’s most definitely this.

It’s not all been plain sailing, I’m worried how I’ll tell my boss now my career means it’ll be tough for them to cover my role when I’m off. I’ve had challenges already with my older two coping with the news (I’ll write about that again in time). But it still feels like a bit of an adventure.

I’ve laughed at being called a geriatric mum (like be serious here I’m much healthier and more emotionally sound that I was at 21), I’ve loved my partner trying to force feed me mango and mackrel (he’s on the dad to be apps which is cute as he tells me how many weeks I am every Monday and chases me for a bump pic) and I’ve sat here a million times worrying I’ll not be able to love any more than I already do my two beautiful Teenage sons who are already growing in to young men but still feel like my babies.

Then I remember feeling exactly like this for baby number 2, worrying I could not possibly love any more than I did him – and my god I love him with my whole heart, just as much as I do number 1.

So, number 3, I know that the first time our eyes meet, my whole heart will grow again and whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed with how much you’ll change my world as I know it, I remind myself how lucky I am to get to hold my very own baby again when I thought those days were gone. Even if I do have to sit and watch Peppa pig* with you every single day (*sob)…..

Youngtooldmummy

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