Three weeks in the hospital and no sign of getting out. Having a bad time. My blood pressure is too high but stable so there’s no news each day. I’m finding it so desperately hard to manage here. I cry, often, which is very much not my usual self. If I do any activity (and I include reading, having a bath, speaking to a visitor) I need to sleep for at least the same quantity of time after. The sleep is never refreshing. I am exhausted. I hate it.

Here are some things that I believe:

I believe that I’ve been somehow tricked into being here. That I was (sort of) happy going about my life then thanks to a stupid irrelevant rash I dropped in to see my GP and I never knew that’d be the last time I’d be allowed to live at home before Kipling was born.

I believe that living in public is shit – having people in and out of my room every half hour with no privacy and no comfort and feeling so homesick.

I believe that I can’t cope with this. That my last ditch coping strategy (wrapping myself up in my duvet and staying in my bed all day) is no longer open to me and I don’t know how to manage the endless days.

I believe I’m missing out on several important bits of pregnancy – going to antenatal classes, opening all of Kipling’s furniture and packages as they arrive, generally getting ready for a baby.

I believe that after nearly five years – the IVF, the awful sickness, the day assessment and now the weeks in hospital – my resilience is gone. 

I believe that there’s two of us being treated here – me and Kipling – but that he’s the only one anyone cares about. I’m doing as I’m told, accepting every pill and injection and treatment without complaint as the best thing for him. But none of this is the best thing for me and no-one here listens or gives a crap to how I’m being affected by this.

I believe I just want him out of me.

I believe I am the worst parent ever because I don’t want to be pregnant anymore. I know the best thing for Kipling is for me to keep him inside me, but I can’t stand being here and I don’t have the strength to do this.

I’m believe that my lovely shiny star Kipling is slipping away from me, that the only thing keeping me going in the pregnancy is no longer the most important thing to me. Because I’m a terrible selfish bitch that can’t sit tight and manage a few weeks in hospital.

I believe that neither the lovely endlessly patient husband or poor helpless Kipling deserves that.