As my due date becomes closer and closer I find it bittersweet. I can’t wait to meet my baby but I’m also grieving the fact this will be my last baby.
The last time I will be able to rub my hands across my belly and know my body is growing and nourishing a baby just by me breathing.
The last time I will be able to nest.
The last time I’ll be buying baby things and the last time I'll feel kicks in my belly.
The last time I’ll see little hands and feet at my antenatal scans.
The last time I’ll experience the “newborn stage.”
The last time my belly will be this big to become a home for my unborn baby. The last time my husband and I will ponder over baby names for hours at night.
The last time I’ll be guessing if my baby is a girl or boy. The last time I’ll buy teeny tiny baby clothes and nappies.
Trying to appreciate this pregnancy on the days where my hyperemesis was bearable I felt like I was eagerly counting down the days to my due date because I wanted the sickness, fatigue and dehydration to just come to an end but now I realise this will be the last time my body will be doing this, it’ll be my last time to hold a baby inside me. We all talk about the struggles of being a first time mum not knowing what you’re doing half the time (including myself) but I didn’t think or realise how hard it would be to know this would be my last time becoming a new mum.
There is nothing more soul crushing then making this choice at only 26 years old.
This won’t be my last pregnancy because I have any issues conceiving but because I know my body won’t be able to handle another HG pregnancy again. Mentally I won’t be able to isolate myself for another 40 weeks again and live with the guilt of feeling like I’m neglecting my children while hugging onto the toilet seat and physically it will be impossible for me to look after myself and three other children while having hg again.