I’m just over 36 weeks pregnant. The last couple of weeks have slipped by Erin and I in a haze of deep breaths and a blur of work deadlines. We had our birth-plan appointment at the obgyn where we discussed what we “want” for delivery. As far as we’re concerned, we’re in the hands of the professionals to do whatever is necessary to try help our little Junebug! I am still hoping for a ‘natural’ birth (I don’t like that term, but like ‘vaginal birth’ even less). I can’t help but think that one final push and squeeze might help those little lungs to start working. I’m also hoping to go without pain-relief to try and be as alert as possible, I’ve read about mums who weren’t as alert as they were hoping when their babies struggled at birth and I’m hoping (not in a martyrly way!) that I can be as present as possible to be there for my sweet Junebug, just in case.

At the moment Junebug is contentedly breech with her giant (it’s tracking a few weeks ahead for gestational age) noggin bumping into my ribs, and her tiny legs footloosing onto my bladder. If she doesn’t turn in the next week or so they may attempt ECV (external cephalic version) where a doctor will try to physically turn her into position. Failing that, I’ll be scheduled for a c-section around 39 weeks. Another reason I’m a little anxious about a c-section, is if things go south quite quickly, she’ll be rushed away while I’m still in recovery and the thought of not being with her in those moments is really difficult to come to terms with. But, if a c-section will bring her into this world, a c-section it is. I trust our doctors. I have a feeling the delivery room will be like Bethlehem on the big day with the obgyn, midwife and neonatologists all on hand.

Erin and I have been thinking through all our options for intervention and palliative care and know that those are conversations we’ll just have to keep having until the time decisions have to be made.

Our big scan last week wasn’t what we expected. We had decided before we went in that we didn’t want to see the measurements. In our minds, if it’s bad news – then that’ll just make the next few weeks even harder—and if it’s good news, we will constantly second guess. The MFM doctor was also run off her feet, fielding calls from other doctors about patients who all had their own more imminent complications and situations with their babies. We’re not the only ones going through such a challenging time. We made sure to say a little prayer for all of them as we waited after our scan.

We were fortunate to meet one of the hospitals neonatologists who talked us through what happens when babies with skeletal dysplasia are born, how they assess breathing and what sorts of measure they might take. It was incredibly generous of her to give us her time and answer our questions.

When the doctor came in, she acknowledged we didn’t want to see the measurements, but told us that we were still in ‘wait and see’ territory. She also noted that Junebug’s abdomen had slowed down in growth and recommended that we start weekly ultrasounds just to keep an eye on what’s happening.

We had our first ‘keep an eye’ scan today at a private radiology practice and were terrified the doctor would find even more things wrong or worrying with a bit more time on his hands to take a look around. Fortunately, he just took a doppler of brain and body (measuring the blood flow from placenta to brain and tummy) which looked good, we saw Junebug doing plenty of practice breathing with her little diaphragm moving up and down, and—we saw our baby’s face for the first time with a 3D image. I’d always thought I’d never want to see that kind of image, but in light of what we’ve been through, it was just the most incredibly beautiful thing. There she was, with a buttony-pug nose, chubby chubby cheeks and the most perfectly grumpy mouth – just like her mum. I can’t stop looking at the image. I can’t believe that I get to be a home for someone so incredibly beautiful.

We’ve taken some time to reflect on everything that’s happened so far, and it’s remarkable realising where we are now in ourselves, compared to three months ago. Nothing will ever prepare us for losing Junebug, we know that. But there is hope, and we know that, too. We just keep telling ourselves that whatever happens, we will get to meet our baby and tell her we love her. That can’t be taken away from us. 

One silly thing I can't shake is how much I don't want Junebug to be born in May. I want her to be a Junebug, not a Mayfly. Mayflies don't live for very long. I told my mum this who said, "Pfft, that's ridiculous, if she's born in May, she'll just be a Maybug." Here's hoping! 

Life in limbo is exhausting but finding moments to celebrate makes us feel like none of this journey is wasted. So, I’ll keep waddling about, heavy with the life of our baby (and cheese, bread and a host of delicious sweet things) and enjoy the way my body and my mind are growing and changing, and being as grateful for all of it as I can be.