It is taking a long time to come round to the idea:
1. Having four children - how does anyone manage that and enjoy it?
2. Where to have the baby? Here in Kazkahstan - in some post-soviet clinic full of doctors who have qualified in psychiatric care, working the night shift in a gynacological ward because they haven't been able to get a job in their chosen field? In England? If there, where will I stay? What will I do with other three kids? Leave them in Kaz? Get mother in law out to help - she may not be available, sister-in-law having delivered her second in late Jan? Be forever in her debt? Agh. I don't know yet.
3. Actually having it. I feel I have had enough of the birth stuff: disposable paper knickers, sore bits (I had more stitches than in applique quilt after #1 - ouch).
4. All the other websites and blogs I read from mums of four nearly always have husbands around quite a lot. My baby is due in March next year. Last March was in the middle of a fairly gruesome period when my accountant husband worked 66 days straight - no weekends (66, the number of the devil, you know). Even with him trying really hard to be supportive, I know he won't really be able to be around.
5. Becoming a mum of four. I don't really see myself in that group. I have always thought mums of four were a breed apart. Either earnest, earthy, knitting types who wear hemp clothing (they grow their own hemp), or those scary, incredibly-organised super mum, pony-club breeders who breast feed their youngest while running as the local MP (and winning), or successfully launching a new range of organic baby food in Sainsbury's. I have never really seen myself in either camp. I am just not that kind of girl. Don't have the gumption.
The hemp type mums all seem to agree that you just have to go with the flow, reduce your expectations of what you will be able to achieve at home and not worry about it. But I don't want to live in a house where the older kids have to forage for their food when they come home because I haven't had time to prepare anything, or where everything is all jumbled up because even starting to sort things out, like toys etc is such a huge task that to start is to open the doors of hell.
The super mums don't seem to blog - I am sure that if they did they would be so smug that some lesser blogging mortals would track them down and super mum would be found, murdered by drowning in a five-gallon vat of her own, organic, plum puree.
And to top it all, husband and I have now fallen out. I am being too "weird" for him. I have told him quite a lot of these concerns and he shrugs them off as logistical problems to be solved in a calm and orderly manner. Why are men always so blooming logical? SO annoying! He cannot understand why I feel slightly overwhelmed at the prospect. It is a real Venus meets Mars situation, and after 16 years together, I have to admit to a certain disappointment that the love of my life seems to have such a small grasp of my mental processes. To his credit, he remains unbelievably (some might say, insanely) positive about everything. He is just that kind of guy - loves life and wants to wring every last drop of excitement, experience and fun out of his limited time on the planet. Which I suppose makes me a bit crap for whinging on. I should just look on the bright side and stop whinging, or I will end up like one of those whiny, spoilt housewives who I detest so much!
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