A bun.

 

Last Friday I ticked over to 22 weeks.

 

Where has the time gone?

 

I've been so busy cooking my little girl bun that I've been absolutely too completely busy to sit down and type.

 

Although, I will say this, before I go out to enjoy another warm day.

 

I was eating some cake, some deliciously yummy, raw strawberry and sunflower seeded base cake ( a new cook book, a new recipe ) and Boy had a piece too of course.

 

Except he finished his first and he asked me to share and I seriously, unequivocally did not want to share because he'd had his own piece and.. well, it was soo good.

 

And I was down to the last bite, and you know how you set yourself up for the last delicious bite and if you don't get it you're not ever satisfied. ( this happens a lot with Boy, he always seems to want to 'share' my food on the last bite ) and usually I'd share because telling him that he's all ready had his own piece and that is what's fair never works. So this time I said:

 

" Oh.... I'm sharing mine with the baby "

 

And the spoon hung at my mouth, with the delicious last bite sitting -glistening on it, while I waited to see if this answer would suffice for the three year old in the room.

 

And he smiled, and he looked at me with genuinely adoring eyes and he said:

 

" That's SO good Mumma."

 

And he looked lovingly down from my face at my little round belly and off he went.

 

And I sat there stunned.

 

Stunned that it had worked, so I greedily shoved that last bit of cake in my mouth before he realised the deception and came back.

 

But it didn't taste as good as I had imagined.

 

Because now I was completely distracted with feeling torn with guilt and awe.

 

Later Hunna said " You do technically share everything you eat with the baby"

And I thought about it, and it eased the guilt a little. But I am still in awe, at my Boy.

 

Who all ready loves this baby, so so much.

 

Who will kiss me and then her.

 

Who will hug me around the neck and then firmly wrap his arms around my belly and say " I hug the baby"

 

Who will yell out " Goodnight " to all three of us from bed.

 

And who will share, along side me, the last bite of delicious cake with her.

 

Love comes softly.

I wish I had the courage to show you my growing belly.

The way the scar from my surgery sits across it, a badge of honour on my slowly rounder stomach.

The pain of sickness contrasts with the smooth, ever tighter skin next to it and the life it contains.

The way its jagged edge veers around my belly button and the way Hunna traces it with his finger because he knows I can't feel anything on my scar.

The way he rests his head on my small blossoming belly and listens for signs of his ever stronger daughter.

Yes, baby is a girl.

We took the 20 week scan last Friday.

I lay there, my stomach bare for the technician to see, the machine wand swirling across my belly.

My nervousness clearly seen by the sweat seeping though the under arm material of my top.

When she told us her gender I knew she was our beloved.

Our little light, the one we could see at the end of the dark and drafty tunnel of the last few years.

The one we had been walking towards, our ray of hope.

And I felt as if we had made it to the end of the tunnel and stepped out into the glorious sunlight.

The radiance of light so bright, the warmth so enveloping, all I could do was feel, and stand in awe.

I feel more love. More love than I've ever felt before. For Boy, for Hunna. For our new baby girl.

For our, soon to be, more perfect family.

My heart has been on a journey these last few years.

A journey to learn to love and trust. A journey of recovery.

And I fear I will never be the same again.

 

Admittance

When I was pregnant with Boy, I worried a lot.

I worried a lot about life, about how we would cope with having a child and living with Hunna's parents.

But there is something I worried about more than anything else.

Babies.

I don't like babies. I mean ... I really don't like babies.

I have to say it.

I wouldn't mind if all babies arrived at about 4 months old. I'm happy with a 4 month old. I like 4 month olds. They're predictable. They interact. They smile.

{ I do understand why we don't push out 4 month olds, imagine that! }

But really baby babies and I have a somewhat rocky relationship.

Sometimes I feel pressure, pressure to pretend that I'm in love with other people's babies. That they are joyous and cute and I can't get enough of their baby smell.

I feel that I mustn't be maternal enough or perfect enough because I can't automatically love them or coo at them or trace their features with my finger.

People would tell me ' It's different when you have your own. '

But as my due date drew nearer, with Boy, I wasn't overly concerned about getting him out.

Because then I would have a baby.

And not just any baby. A baby that I couldn't give back. He would be my baby.

I desperately hoped for the instant bond that others said they experienced after birth.

But I can genuinely say. It wasn't instant.

I'd never had a baby. I'd never had a child. I didn't know what loving my own child was, or how to do it or how it would make me feel or react.

He was essentially a stranger, with different ideas on life. With different ideas on sleeping and eating. With different ideas on everything.

It was awkward and new and different and insane but eventually.

He changed me.

He taught me about pure love. About how it starts very small but grows and grows until you think your heart will burst.

How it fills you and radiates through your entire body.

How it changes you so radically that you know you will never be the same again.

Boy taught me about selfless love.

He taught me I have a greater capacity to love and be loved.

So, this time I am excited. I am allowing my self to look forward to having a new baby.

I know it will be hard and awkward and I accept that perhaps I'm just not a baby person.

But I also feel it will be different with this baby.

Because Boy with his infinite patience and understanding has paved the way.

And I can't wait to love and cherish and adore another member of our family.

Even if it will be awkward just for a little while.