There's something to be said about the end of pregnancy.

There's something to be said about the end of pregnancy.

It drives you fucking loopy.

You could live the whole experience through rose-coloured glasses, only to get to the magical 37 week, 'full term' milestone and smash down those glasses in a fit of impatience and anxiety.

Oh lord, am I at that motherfucking stage right now.

I don't know if it's because you kind of expect to deliver then and there once you hit full-term or because I'm just impatient and anxious by nature, but it's not making for a very pleasant experience.

Amelia was born at 39+1 weeks and Oscar at 41 weeks. I don't birth 'em in the beginning part of 'full-term' so I have no idea why I torture myself with the hope that maybe one day this week, I'll have a baby. But I do.

Every night, I go to bed with a mug of Raspberry Leaf, hoping that the braxtons become something abit more ... erm, cervix dilating.

Every morning, I wake up after a shitful sleep and think "Oh fuck me, another day. Let's go night time, I want to go into labour dammit!"

My days are spent wondering (read: obsessing). When it will all begin? Will it be the middle of the night? Will my labour be quicker this time? Is there anything I can do to speed it along? OH GOD, WHY AM I STILL NOT IN LABOUR?

Sure, I'm counting the minutes because I'm uncomfortable and because I'm looking forward to giving birth but I'm consumed by this overpowering desire by meet my baby. I've been growing her for 259 days now - I am aching to hold her and smell her and bring her home where she belongs. Of course, I'm going to want to shove her back in when she's up partying all night and wanting to feed for like 23rd consecutive hour (ok, may be an exaggeration) but right now, every extra day of waiting feels like an eternity.

I sound like a Hallmark card but whatfuckingever.

If this moaning pregnant woman was someone, you know, other than me, I'd sit her down and tell her to enjoy these final weeks (while silently sending her messages to harden the fuck up by ESP). I'd tell her to take pleasure in the simple things like watching a movie in one sitting, eating dinner while it's still warm or being able to hear someone else's baby cry in the shop without your milk letting down like some total creep. I'd tell her that savour those skin-stretching bumps and kicks because she will miss them when they're gone ...

But I'm the preggo here and I will cut the voice of reason with a rusty knife and blame the hormones and then go and wallow in a box of Krispy Kreme donuts about how I'm going to be pregnant for like, ever. Because when you're in the thick of it, you really do feel like you're going to be duffed forever - and rationality is not an option.

Oh yeah, there's definitely something to be said about the end of pregnancy!