I know many people think of choosing home birth as a brave thing to do. And I can sort of understand their point of view… but only in my head, not in my heart. For me, home birth is the easy choice, the alternative that does not require any bravery.

Perhaps it comes down to what you have more confidence in: your body, or the health care system. I know I have a healthy body that can do just about anything a body is supposed to do. It is rarely unwell, has no chronic problems, does not break easily.

Or maybe it’s about being in control. I have an aversion to other people making decisions for me, to not being in control of my own life. I dislike strangers, noise, hassle. A hospital birth would make me nervous and anxious. Machines that go ping, shift changes, strange smells, other mothers giving birth next door – I don’t even want to think about it. A home birth on the other hand is a calm, undisturbed experience.

People mention pain, too. That’s what everybody thinks about first when thinking about giving birth. This birth was definitely an easy one, but of course I made my decision not knowing that, based on how Ingrid’s birth went. And there was pain, of course, but it was never unmanageable. I really don’t know if it was less painful than the average birth, or if I am more tolerant of pain than the average mother, or if it is simply about expectations and perceptions. I accepted that it would hurt and decided to live with it, and not worry more about it.

The practicalities are generally sorted. Work tasks have been finished or parked, I have emptied my drawers, and we had my farewell lunch today. We have a birth pool in the basement (unassembled). My mum has agreed to take care of Ingrid. The phone numbers to both midwives are on the fridge. Teensy nappies lie waiting in the bathroom.

Again I have a very active baby, kicking so you can see my whole abdomen wobble. There is no sign of him/her quieting down yet, even though there shouldn’t be much space in there. Now the little legs are so distinct that sometimes I can’t help poking them around when the baby kicks, pushing them one way and the other.

I have an audience this time. Ingrid likes feeling the kicks, especially when she is sitting on my lap or next to me and feels an unexpected kick against some part of her own body.

This time I’ve been having Braxton Hicks contractions – I can’t recall feeling any last time. It is really uncomfortable when the baby chooses to kick around during a contraction.

Being pregnant feels far less exciting and special this time. I am tired of the whole thing and wish the baby could come out now. Counting days (should be about 6 weeks to go as of yesterday).

Back starting to ache? Check.
Fast walking starting to become difficult? Check.
Baby kicking around like a nutter? Check.
Body starting to look a bit less bony? Check.

Been there done that.

Now suddenly the bump has started growing and become more visible. And at the same time it’s making itself noticed in daily life. It’s beginning to get in my way when I clip my toenails. And it’s taking up internal space, so there’s less room for food in my stomach. After a normal-sized meal it feels like I’ve overeaten and I’ve got food up to my throat.

Today I had my second appointment with the midwife. I chose her for one reason only: she does planned home births, and that’s a rare thing in this country. Luckily she’s turned out to be a good fit otherwise, too. She’s relaxed and down to earth. “Any idea how much you might weigh now? No? OK, not to worry, it’s not that important. How are you feeling? Any complaints or discomforts? No? Well, in that case, since your blood pressure is looking good, we won’t bother with a urine sample, unless you want to. See you again in a month.”

While I do have a stash of maternity wear from last time, it turns out to not really fill my needs. First, as expected, there’s the climate issue. April in London is a great deal warmer than April in Sweden. Second, my lifestyle has changed. There is hardly anything in my stash for gardening, playgrounds, and other such physical and semi-messy activities.

I need to shop. I dislike shopping at the best of times, and now I need to do it under time pressure. And the shops seem to sell jeans, and clothes in black and white. Depressing.

On the positive side, I am no longer tired, and not unusually hungry either. And I have been feeling movements for the past week or two. First it felt like a little fish fluttering around; now it’s a bit more focused and distinct, like a bubble popping, so I can actually imagine tiny legs kicking around in there.

I’m also releasing some previously-written but hitherto-embargoed posts in the Pregnancy category.

But just like last time, I want cool, light, juicy food above all. Yoghurt and fruit are especially good. Some days I notice a lovely cake or cookie somewhere, and really wish that I wanted to eat it – but when given a choice I’d much rather have some grapes. The best meal is unsweetened yoghurt mixed with some berries from the freezer, and Havre Fras (puffy oat cereal). I’d been wondering what we would use all those berries for (cause we have lots). Now I know: to build a baby!

My body never quite regained its original shape after my previous pregnancy (even though I quickly tumbled back to my original weight). And now my waist is getting rounder again. Most of my “smart casual” skirts are already unusable; the dresses still fit, and some trousers too. Time to unpack the pregnancy clothes again. How lucky that we’ve managed to time this pregnancy to match the seasonality of the previous one almost exactly!

The pregnancy is clearly messing with my blood sugar and digestion. I have to eat every three hours or so, but often when I feel that I absolutely must eat something RIGHT NOW, when I go to the kitchen to actually get food, the only thing I want is a yoghurt or perhaps an apple. The thought of actually eating real food is almost revolting. So the signal of hunger arises from low blood sugar, not from lack of energy.

My blood pressure also seems to be swinging wildly, and standing still for long stretches of time is not good. Several mornings now, while standing on the train – only 11 minutes – I’ve been close to fainting due to low blood pressure. It’s the worst combination: standing still, and being slightly too hot because we’re effectively indoors but with outdoor clothes.

My least favourite pregnancy complaint thus far: gassy stomach. Very uncomfortable, sometimes really painfully so. I fart like a champion. Because of this I find it hard to fit into my clothes at times, even though I haven’t gained much weight yet, so I feel a lot more pregnant than I really am.

Speaking of which… Whenever I think of the English word (farting) I cannot help but remember a business trip, back in 2004 or so. This was while I was living and working in London. There were four of us, visiting a few companies in Stockholm over two days: myself, a colleague, my boss, and my boss’s boss. As our taxi left the airport, one of the others spotted a sign for “Utfart”, meaning Exit in Swedish. And they found it hilarious. So hilarious that for the next two, they would shout “utfart!” to each other about once every half hour. It got old after about 3 repetitions, but not for them. Educated intelligent adults, with jobs entailing significant responsibility over much money – and with a sense of humour at the level of an 8-year-old. And they’ve forever ruined the word utfart for me.

And now I’m entering the tired phase. All afternoon and evening all I can think of is just lying down and closing my eyes. I’m already noticing increasing hunger, too, but I’m clearly not yet in that extreme phase of constant eating.

But of course I myself think about it all the time. When I was trying to conceive, my thoughts kept coming back to the topic of babies all the time. Daily, several times over. I was counting days, and thinking about my pills, and sex, and so on. I have to say, it’s nicer to ruminate about a baby than about wanting a baby. Now I think about the time of year when Blump the Second will be born, and how big I will be in February when we’ll be attending a wedding, and what will Ingrid think, and will I need to buy new clothes again because last time I mostly needed summer clothes, and who will take care of Ingrid while I’m giving birth, and how long will I stay home with the baby, and so on.

Lies beget lies, and hiding one thing leads to having to hide other things, too. Since I haven’t told people I’m pregnant, I can’t explain at work why I need to take a morning off (to have that first meeting with the pre-natal care clinic). I can’t mention my flu shot (which I got yesterday, together with Ingrid) because they’re only available for risk groups and children at this point, and I got mine only because I was pregnant. Gah, I wish this month could pass faster.

I’m already thinking of how I will manage two children, where they will sleep, the clothes I will have to buy for myself, what it will feel like to breast-feed again, etc. I wish it didn’t have to take so long!

• … stand on one leg long enough to pull off a sock, or put a leg through a trouser leg opening.
• … reach my toes for cutting toenails.
• … cycle in 3rd gear, and run up the stairs.
• … sleep in other positions than on my left side.
• … feel like I’m sharing a bed with Eric again, without a Chinese wall of a pillow between us.
• … button my jacket all the way.
• … sit right up to the table when eating.

There are some gory details here and there; don’t read it unless you really want to know what labour and childbirth can be like. It’s also quite a long story, but as with my blog posts, I’ve written it more for myself than for anyone else.

Everything went well. The worst of the exhaustion has now passed, but we’re all still quite tired and haven’t quite found our footing yet, so further details will have to wait a while.

Ingrid Johanna, age 90 minutes

This afternoon I walked to the post box to mail a letter, and then to the local clinic to get a repeat prescription renewed. This should normally have taken about 20 minutes, but took me an hour. I think I walked at half my normal pace, on average, but on my way there I forgot myself and sped up for a moment – and paid for it by getting a stitch in the side (at least that’s what I think it was – with a pregnant belly it felt more like a an agonising cramp in the stomach muscles) and having my blood pressure drop through the floor, so I had to sit and wait 20 minutes at the clinic for it to recover.

Then I got home and slept 2 hours out of exhaustion, waking only once to turn to the other side.

No, walking doesn’t work well now. Cycling, however, still works perfectly well for short distances (did yesterday, at least). With hindsight it’s clear that I should have cycled to the clinic instead of walking.

I’ve been cycling throughout the whole pregnancy, both because I always cycled everywhere before I was pregnant, and because I’ve found it more comfortable and/or convenient than any of the alternatives. It’s definitely less tiring than walking and puts less strain on the back. It’s also more comfortable than sitting on a bus – bus seats give me a backache. Above all, it is far more comfortable than taking a taxi, which is what everyone has been suggesting to me (if it costs more, it must be better?). London streets are so uneven and taxis have such strong suspension that a taxi ride here feels like being on a fairground ride or a large trampoline. At the top of each bounce Blump pushes my stomach up to my throat, and at the end of the bounce s/he lands painfully on some internal organs. Not comfy at all. On the bike I can at least see each bump coming and avoid it or compensate for it, but there’s no way to do that in a taxi.

The bike is not really an option for longer distances any more (too tired afterwards) so I’ve been taking the tube for my daytime bookshopping trips etc. The tube has turned out to be a reasonably good alternative, as long as I’m not in a hurry (which I’m not) and can avoid the rush hour (which I can) – a positive surprise, on the whole.