Being pregnant is lovely. It’s privileged and I don’t wish to moan about it and its many random foibles (much, anyway).
One thing I do find though, is that I seem to be awake half of the whole night, every night. This isn’t fun when you know that, at around 6.30am, two very enthusiastic toddlers will want your attention and to play houses/monkeys on the bed or similar. Still, awake I am (like now, at 3.54am).
There is an upshot though. This has become my own time. I use it to plan for baby number 3’s arrival. I order random things online. I torture myself with images from Pinterest and laugh at funny posts online. It’s part of the reason I’ve started this blog, when I realised that I have no real record of the boys growing up, except in my mind. It’s my time to plan what to do next, what the next week holds or how I’m going to try to cope with 3 children under the age of five in a few weeks.
Being awake at this time has its benefits in other ways, despite my husband complaining and blaming my iPhone for keeping me up with its glare or my latest Kindle obsession. It’s my own time, my selfish time, my “I don’t feel guilty for being online time”. For now. In a few weeks, I hope a lovely newborn will be joining me. If she’s anything like the last two, then I will be googling all the things I’m not sure about, from cradle cap to growth spurts, as they crop up, reading books and trying not to fall asleep feeding. It’s a lovely time, the middle of the night. In its own way.