An 8 month pregnant wish...

Sometimes I wish I was pregnant. Not because I want anyone other than LO - I don't, he is the most precious person to us already. Not because I envy my pregnant friends the wonders and magic of pregnancy - I made my peace with that a long time ago. But because right now I'd be eight months pregnant and I think people would treat me differently.

I know that there can be some shocking oversights in day-to-day life; people not giving up their seat to a pregnant woman, for instance. But on the whole I know that pregnant women are treated with a kind of reverence. They are allowed outbursts of emotion. They are expected to be tired and overwhelmed at times. They are asked tenderly how they are feeling, sometimes by complete strangers. Others get caught up in the magnificent energy they exude and smile at them, say 'not long to go now!' (I witnessed this whilst away with my friend a few months ago, everyone we met whilst walking the dog smiled and spoke to her about her big bump.) They leave work amidst a flurry of cards and presents. They have blessingways or baby showers during which friends and family toast the good news and offer advice and gifts.

I know this attention might be unwanted at times, and I'm sure there are moments when every pregnant woman wishes she wasn't carrying around a big sign saying 'I'm about to have a baby! Talk to me about it!'. But there's something about being an adoptive mum that makes you feel a bit...well, invisible. You don't want to tell lots of people in case it falls through at the last minute. You're expected to carry on as normal until you meet your future child. Outbursts of emotion and general exhaustion are seen perhaps as moodiness, irritability, and at worst, irrational. In some cases, people are embarrassed by adoption - the elephant in the room being why you've chosen that route - and they avoid talking about it altogether. Others are furiously opinionated about adoption today, about the prospects for children whose early life is blighted by difficulty. Finally, there are those who ask impossibly impertinent questions about the birth family, without seeming to think how it might feel to answer those questions. The birth family is an endless curiosity box, pored over by people intent on sharing their opinions (I have refused to answer questions on this subject, other than the bare neccessities). I have been told many times, by people who have never been through it, how incredibly difficult, time-consuming and invasive the adoption process is - rarely have I been asked what it is really like (not that bad, actually, until the last chapter).

Sometimes, I would like someone to smile at me, say 'congratulations! Not long to go now! You look amazing! Radiant! Sit down and have a cup of tea, let me help you with your bags...here, have a tissue, it's perfectly normal to have a cry.'

Now, wouldn't that be magic?