Unreality

In a bizarre turn, I realised yesterday that the closer it gets to the reality of having Spud, the less real it actually seems to me.

I’m in a group on Facebook for those who are due to have babies in February, so, naturally, since mid-January my feed has had daily newborn pictures pop up. These have now become constant, and every time I open the app it’s guaranteed to show me multiple birth stories with pictures of crumpled, chubby babies, and smiling, exhausted mommas. I’m going to be one of them – possibly in the next few days – and it seems more impossible than it did right back at the start when I peed on a stick and threw it at T while he slept.

I don’t know why this is. Maybe, confronted by the stark fact that one day this week I’ll leave the house and come back with a baby, my brain is shutting down a little? I’m not depressed (I don’t think), I don’t even feel as though I have the Bumpy Blues, and I don’t even feel particularly apprehensive about the actual act of pushing out a baby - so I don’t know why I’m kind of trying to deny the fact of an impending birth. Especially when I practically need a harness and lever to hoist me up off the sofa!

Everything is set up, and we are as logistically ready as we’ll ever be for Spud’s homecoming. Emotionally, I’ve said before, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready and maybe this is why it’s becoming less real as it becomes more real?

Did anyone else feel like this in the days before having their Spuds?