As the countdown really begins I know I am going to be late. I can feel it in my bones.

It’s really hard when you get to these latter stages because you just want it to happen already but if I’ve got any maternal instinct it’s telling me this little one won’t be making an appearance on time.

One girl in my antenatal class produced five weeks ahead of schedule. If you can schedule such a momentous occasion. It got me panicked for a while and I hurriedly sorted my hospital bags and considered my birth plan. But then she had always thought she’d be early. I have always thought I would be late. And nothing has yet convinced me otherwise.

but it’s so depressing almost. Don’t get me wrong I want to the bubs to join us when it’s good and ready but it’s been in the oven for so long now and I am bored. I’ve officially got six weeks to go and I am praying it doesn’t drag out for two more. I don’t have any coats that do up, I can’t put my own shoes on unless they’re slip ons, I get out of breath emptying the dishwasher and I have to physically hold my stomach now whenever I roll over in bed. Six weeks more of this is plenty for me. Then I want to have my baby to play with.

So I am hoping my maternal instinct hasn’t yet kicked in and it’s just plain old pessimism keeping me from thinking this’ll go like clockwork. But not before six weeks please either. My friend rang me this morning because she had a text message in the middle of the night from an unknown number saying that the baby had been born — a girl — and everyone was fine. She thought it was my husband and it was about me. That freaked me out. Perhaps I’m not quite ready just yet.