Reasons to be fearful: 1, 2, 3

I've written about fear before, but now, two weeks from our due date, the fear is very different. It's the fear about how our lives will change. 

Yes, we chose this baby, we want and love her more than anything. But when she arrives everything will be different.  Forever. Every time we go past the theatre and see a play we'd like to go to we say "oh we must book tickets" and then realise that we won't be able to go out at the drop of a hat anymore. 

And whoever said "hell is other people" had a point. Or perhaps it should be "hell is mother people". Everyone seems so keen to tell us horror stories of screaming babies, sleep deprivation and life being fundamentally altered. And yes, if course I know that these things will happen from time to time. But I am desperately trying to keep hold of the love we will all share, and the wonderful things we will do. They don't tend to be the stories people tell so much though. 

What about me?

One of the challenges of being the partner of a pregnant woman is finding your role. R gets to be part of this secret society of women who give each other knowing looks, roll their eyes in unison and shake their heads over things such as pelvic floors and pregnancy pillows. As a woman, I reckon I have an advantage, and indeed R and I have done synchronised pelvic floor exercises in recent weeks. Every little helps...

However, I don't seem to have an automatic role, which is sometimes challenging. The first question, understandably, that anyone asks me is how R is. There is an assumption that I am fine and that I'm just there, making cups of tea and soaking up the stress. I guess that is what I am doing to a certain extent. But sometimes, it is hard to work out what I should be doing when I am sleeping like a log and R is yet again tossing and turning all night. People rush to ensure that R has a seat and carry bags for her, which is fantastic, but I do feel like a spare part from time to time.

As you will see from previous posts, I do feel from time to time that I don't have an automatic community. I'm not a 'dad' but I'm not a 'mum' in the traditional sense either. I fall between two stools really. Most of the time that's quite nice, leaving me to find my own way and do it the way feels right. I hope that R feels supported, and I am fortunate that when I have a 'parental wobble' she is there and willing to listen.

Last week we grabbed a bit of unexpected sunshine and sat outdoors. We talked about what each of us will do with our baby when he/she arrives. It was lovely to really start to think of ourselves as a family. In just a few months that is what we will be.

The fear...

Are you expecting a baby? Is your partner expecting one? Or perhaps you are soon to adopt a child. Whatever your scenario, at some point you will come across 'the fear'.

It began quite early on for me. Our lovely two bedroom flat is already a bit of a squeeze, and in order to fit in a baby and all the ensuing detritus, we're going to need to either move somewhere bigger or do a life laundry. In order to prevent nervous breakdowns all round, we have opted for the former. This all sounds perfectly reasonable, but of course pregnancy is nature's way of setting a ticking time bomb that you have no control over. We have just five months left now to sort out our lives. Hence, 'the fear'.

'The fear' is that hot sweaty sensation you get in the night when you realise you have no idea where you're going to put a folded buggy.

'The fear' is the moment that people ask which nursery you will use - yes, apparently we should already know this.

'The fear' is that growing sensation that nothing will be the same again.

I am slowly learning that I will not be a perfect parent, nor indeed is it possible to be one. With this lesson, 'the fear' gets smaller, although I will no doubt still wake up in a cold sweat tonight about whether or not to get a bumbo seat...