After the nausea and dizziness of the first trimester, I was really holding out for the second trimester to be easier. I remember it being physically pretty easy first time round – it was the emotional side that was a real struggle then. I didn’t relax with my son until I was about 27 weeks when I knew the chances that he would survive were in his favour. Looking back there were two main reasons – the chaos that was my homelife with my ex, and the anxiety that I was suffering (triggered no doubt from said chaos, plus a dose of post-miscarriage anxiety thrown in for good measure). This time emotionally I am in a much better place. However, that anxiety is never too far away. Whilst the physical symptoms significantly eased in the second trimester (gone were the nausea and the dizziness apart from occasionally), the anxiety was still never far away. I would feel movement – it was a good week. The official scan went well – baby was even bigger than expected, yet not long later, lack of movement, a horrid sickness bug and old fears raising their ugly head meant I was back to panicking and booking private scans just to check there was a heartbeat there.
Over Christmas I phoned the early maternity unit twice with concerns. Being pregnant, anxious and alone sucks. Sometimes I just wanted someone to hug me. They didn’t even need to tell me everything was OK (in fact, please don’t tell a pregnant woman it will all be OK – you don’t know that, even the consultants at the hospital won’t give me that level of reassurance). That wasn’t what I wanted to hear either. I wanted to know that someone would catch me if – worst case scenario – everything wasn’t OK.
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Over the last 15 weeks or so, there have been many days when I’ve felt OK (probably half, if not more). After feeling a kick (which in the early days was only once a week or every few days), or for a few days to a week after a scan; but each time once the certainty of that reassurance had faded, the anxiety would rise again. At just over 16 weeks I went for another scan – just to check – I took my son with me. He loved seeing the baby (and subsequently decided he’d seen the willy and it was a boy). I made a very conscious effort that after that there would be NO more additional scans. The 20 week scan wasn’t too far off and chances were that if the baby had made it this far with no problems he’d keep growing just fine.
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The physical toll on my body has gradually worsened over the second trimester and is certainly much harder than I remember last time round. I have got bigger (much) quicker. I am also carrying more weight than my previous pregnancy (heck, some of my old maternity clothes didn’t even fit from the start!) and my body is five years older – five years which have seen a lot of stress and exhaustion and very little sleep or selfcare! My back has been pure agony and as time goes on my pelvis has been getting worse – those sharp stabbing pains when you move too fast or too far. There are reguaraly evenings when I can barely move in bed and that’s no exaggeration (crying just to try and get up for the third piss of the night at 4am is really a new kind of lonely low), thankfully it’s not every night and it is never as bad in the day, but it does make things hard. My son bless him, tries to help me out of bed when he can.
The other big difference this time round is that I have an energetic four year old to care for single-handedly on top of it all. He still wants carrying and to jump around and play chase, and I’m sure my inability to do this has had an impact on the fact that I’m finding my son especially difficult at the moment. Although as I edit this post now, towards the end of my second trimester I realise how much my son has already had to give up. I don’t carry him anymore – before this pregnancy it was a daily occurrence. He doesn’t even battle me for it anymore – it’s strange how things can change without you even noticing. I wonder too if my mind has been somehow trying to prepare me (and my son) for the time that he would no longer be the one at the centre of attention – my patience with him has reached a pretty low bar. Soon there will be a newborn demanding my attention too and both of us will need to learn pretty quickly how to deal with this need to split my time. Four years of solo parenting an only child hasn’t given either of us much of an idea of how to focus on anyone else.
The one thing I’ve “missed” most is being able to actually think about the pregnancy. I very much feel like I missed out on the opportunity to revel in my pregnancy with my son, partly because of my own anxiety of losing him and, more so, due to the stress that my ex was causing at the time. I had hoped this time round that although I might not have the time to monitor every stage of the fetal development, I’d be able to ponder it occasionally. In reality, that’s barely happened. I think I can count on one hand the times I’ve been able to lie back or sit down and think about the fact that I’m growing a human inside of me. Those moments are beautiful when they come but sadly they aren’t very often. I’m not bitter about this, I think it’s a reality of second, solo pregnancies. I am however, going to try and start making some time for me and the baby because I owe it to us both to actually consider what is about to unfold. I’m trying to go to pregnancy yoga (also in the hope that it helps with my back) and I’m hopeful that after a stressful final few months to 2016 and difficult start to 2017, my son’s sleep might actually be starting to improve (we’ve had success for two weeks now with a new regime called rainbow dreams so fingers crossed this continues). All I really want is to be able to have an hour or two to myself after he’s gone down. It seems to be a norm that most parents (solo and co-parenting) get, but for various reasons I’ve rarely been able to manage it with my son (although there have definitely been phases where it’s been easier).
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At eighteen weeks things began to change. Although I’d had a few flutters and even a couple of good kicks super early on, at eighteen weeks the ‘proper’ movement started. I was on my way home from work on a Saturday evening and practically jumped out of the seat on the bus as I got a big wham in my innards. I couldn’t have been happier. From that moment on the movements were daily. With my son I hardly felt movement because my placenta was at the front – acting like a big punch bag. I couldn’t believe *this* is what I had been missing all along, it was truly amazing. With every single bump, twist and punch I felt like this baby was getting more and more real. And with each one, there was always a huge smile. Almost a week later and I was sitting on the sofa with my son. He was leaning back with his hand behind his head, I expected that his hand was about to land (softly) on my stomach. As I looked away there was a sudden unmistakable thump from inside. It threw me – how had my son done that? Then it hit me, it wasn’t my son was it? Or not the one on the outside. I’d jumped from the force and shock of the movement from within. “Was that you?” I asked the child beside me. Giggling he replied, “it was both of us”. Even he knew what had happened – as his hand had touched my stomach on the outside, the baby had given me a big kick from the inside. Already at only 18 weeks in utero this kid was playing games with me. God help me when they are both outside ganging up on me. Only that’s not what I really felt – I couldn’t wait. This is exactly why I want another child – the opportunity to witness the sense of camaraderie between two children growing together. Witnessing it before the second is even born is literally amazing. I already feel a sense of family between the three of us. I hope that even in the hardest of days that will get me through. I know that with every breathe of fresh air, every morsel of food and every swig of water I’m nourishing that unborn baby of mine. Little does s/he realise that every movement – little or large – provides that nourishment back to me, ten fold.
Slowly as the movements became more, the difference between this pregnancy and my last one started to shine through. The anxiety that I might lose the baby had become minimal and instead there was the space to connect and enjoy the baby. Sure it wasn’t very often. Just a moment on the bus, or once in bed, but it was there. I realised now that my anxiety with my son had been connected to the situation with my ex, just as much, if not more, than the previous baby loss experience. My main anxiety had been him. This so called broken home was once again proving to be a much better one to birth and raise children in, than my marriage had ever been.
Towards the end of my second trimester I met with a Douala. After speaking with her I was excited, yes you read that right – excited – about the birth. With my son it has been pretty hard having a man in the room who took away my focus from what I should have been doing. I have no doubt it had a big effect on the number of hours I spent pushing (three, in case you are wondering). This time though I am going into that birth room with a totally different mindset. It wasn’t even that I was particularly scared of the birth of my son, as a first timer I didn’t have a clue what it would be like – ignorance is bliss they say – and because my miscarriage had involved a spontaneous labour I actually felt like my body was somewhat prepared for the task ahead. This time, at first I was a little scared of the idea of the birth. Partly because I’ve done it once and know how bloody agonising it is, and partly because I was nervous of having no one there. Of feeling alone. Of feeling like an embarrassment because I’d be one of those women with noone to support them. I’ve taken matters into my own hands though, and this time I will be joined by a Douala. Speaking with her about the birth and ideas for how to try and zone in on the baby and focus on the birth itself, makes me feel like this time round things could be a truly empowering experience. I’m not talking about it being pain free, or all going to ‘plan’ – I know babies don’t much like that – but I’m realising that just being in a place where mentally I’ll be focused on the birth and the birth alone, not some man in the corner, will make a huge difference.
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The last part of the second trimester hasn’t gone quite so well. At almost 27 weeks I had a scare of my life. I was away for the weekend with a group of solo mums when I thought my waters had broke. I didn’t just think they had maybe gone, we weren’t talking some little leak. It felt like a huge gush. For about two hours (as I was in the process of accessing medical attention) I was convinced that I was either a) about to go into spontaneous labour to a very premature baby, b) have said premature baby removed from me because the waters had broke and I knew they can’t stay in much longer than 24 hours for fear of infection c) I don’t even want to say what that was but given I wasn’t having any movement I was pretty scared of this option. Whilst I was lucky and it all turned out fine, it’s taken me the week to get over the shock of it and sadly it’s bought all the old anxieties back. Since whatever happened happened, the movement with this baby has become significantly less (my personal belief of all the possible options I’ve been given is that the hind waters went and this has affected how I feel the movement). I have been monitored for the reduced movements and reassured that all is fine but it’s times like this when being solo really sucks. Part of me wants to go and get the movement monitored again, but I also realise I’m probably being paranoid and the last thing I want to do is waste the time and resources of the NHS. I can’t help but feel a second opinion from a partner would really help on these occasions. Now I’ve reached third trimester I am less concerned about an early birth. I know if the baby makes an appearance now it’s likely to be fine, my bigger concern is something is going wrong inside and that’s why the movement is so reduced. I have another scan in two weeks time – the hospital are being cautious and want to check baby’s growth is OK as it’s gone down the percentiles quite significantly (this isn’t a cause for alarm in itself but could be the start of a worrying pattern which we will only know in time). For now, all I can do is hope that the baby continues to grow (there is no reason why it shouldn’t – the placenta was all fine on the scan) and, as it does, the movement increases. I’m really hoping that come my ‘third trimester’ blog post I’ll be lamenting all the kicks keeping me awake at night! I love the movement when it does come and part of me really loves being pregnant, but I have to say, it’s taken its toll on me physically and the stress of these scares are a real strain. A strain which ultimately ends up taking it’s toll on my son and our relationship too. As bad as I feel for wishing it all away, I really just can’t wait for the time to pass and to have my baby in my arms. Then we can all just get on with adjusting to being a family of three.
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*Photo of me with my bump at 21 weeks.