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Josa’s pregnancy diary - weeks 24-26

I lie on my bed rubbing neroli-scented massage oil onto my burgeoning belly. It is futile for me to try and avoid stretch marks. After two large babies, my belly from the pubic bone upward, looks like the sunlit Nile Delta from the air, seamed with silvery wandering tracks. I wonder whether it has stretched enough and won’t stretch any more for this baby. The telltale purple marks of new stretching have not yet appeared. You can usually tell if you will stretch, by looking at your mother. After five babies, my mother’s slender belly had the texture of ivory-coloured crepe paper. Never believe the spurious promises on lotions – they do feel nice though.

All lies quiet for a minute or two, and then the oiled mound begins to billow like a shaken sheet or a bag of ferrets. Bump. Bump. He still has plenty of room to move around and makes the most of it. It is strange to know that, under your skin there is another person. Small, but there, and getting stronger every day. ‘I’ve got you under my skin. I’ve got you in the very heart of me…’ I hum to myself.

The midwife came again – the baby is lying with his head under my left-hand ribs. I hope he turns head down fairly soon, but there is plenty of time. There are mutterings about inducing me at 38 weeks – again due to my age: apparently, placentas can pack up at the end. Just when I was beginning to feel less anxious, my anxiety levels rose to new heights and I spent a whole evening crying again. The ‘cascade of interventions’ that can be set off by induction, haunts me. A good long sleep made me feel better.

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