‘Babe… do you think we need a garden for bubba…?’


And so the story continues…

I honestly believe my husband thinks I’m insane. We’re having a baby, we just got married and now I’ve decided it might be a good idea to move.

‘What do you mean move? When? You’re 28 weeks pregnant!’

This is where, as parents, we think that our duties are over at 18.. I’m 25 and I still call my mum and dad with all my issues, signs of danger, DIY dramas. (Yes, I do have a husband. And no, he’s shocking when it comes to DIY… or anything that involves common sense! But… he could give you any sports related facts if you asked him, and he’s pretty to look at…. An oil painting, if you will..!)

They agree. It would be better, for us, and bubba, if we had a garden! So it’s time to get the flat on the market and find a house… which my dad does for me… all of it, down to every last detail. Thanks dad!

We find a house and it’s just right J they say women get what they want; I definitely do..  

So let’s move forward to 38 weeks. 

I’m pretty huge, and feeling really uncomfortable. Those closest to me will know that I had a worrying pregnancy, and a painful one at that. Not that all pregnancies aren’t worrying; they are! High blood pressure issues, tachycardia, what I thought may be leaking waters, achy ribs, pelvis pain. The drama that comes along with it is almost enough to put you off having any more! But we do.. because we’re silly women.. silly, silly women.

I had pregnancy insomnia, so the night before we move, I decide it’s a good idea to get up at 4am and clean the fridge out. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to avoid cleaning products, you know, all the fumes are bad for us pregos… but I do it anyway!

 We pack up the flat, with a limited amount of boxes. So much so, that we have to pack up, drive to the house, unpack, take the boxes back and pack up what’s left. Pretty cringe but trying to get my husband to ask randoms in supermarkets for boxes is like trying to mix oil and water! It doesn’t work..

I can’t lift anything heavy, which sounds glorious to most of you I’m sure, but when you’re pregnant you lose some of your independence and the fight to get it back can be brutal. ‘No Sophie, step away from the box of crockery.’ ‘But Mike, it’s not even that heavy!’.

And what adds to it all, is that we live in a 10th floor flat.. THE TENTH FLOOR! Yes there is a lift, but can you imagine the hassle? We also have a HUGE corner sofa that was not made to fit in our corridors. So we decide that we’ll cut into the door to get it in… because it was such a bargain, of course! I love my life…. 

What a view... the benefits of being in the 'penthouse' hah..

So my husband, and some friends help us move into the house and get all our stuff organised and by that evening, we are pretty much settled.. it felt great to have achieved so much in such a short space of time, and it meant that I could start to prep Theo’s bedroom for his arrival. I wanted to make sure I gave myself some time to do it, so decided to wait until the following day before I begun.

I text my mum this picture... 'Hey mum.. LOOK! It looks like a bedroom.. x'

During the day, my aunty had called to invite me over for an impromptu ‘baby shower-esque’ type get together as we figured we might not see each other properly again until the baby was born. I felt exhausted, but it was so nice to sit down, chat, eat and relax after a long day. I’d started to waiver by 10 after being up so early, ‘domesticating the flat’, I decided to make a move and head back to my new home.

(I look exhausted don't I!?)

Clean sheets, 6 pillows (yes 6 pillows… I told you I was uncomfortable..) and my winter duvet. Insomnia didn’t even make an appearance that night! Happy, happy lady.

Then… BOOM! 3am…

‘Babe… my water just broke!’

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