“Your baby is breech.”

I tried not to panic. “Breech? But Boo was head down last time. I had pelvic pressure! Are you sure?”

My midwife assured me that she was sure – and compelled both my husband and I to palpate my belly alongside her to feel the tell tale head up near my ribs – but also insisted that all would be fine.

You’re early still, she said. You’re a second-timer and you’ve got so much room in there still. I bet you anything the baby turns itself back over in the next two weeks. And, if not, we’ll start working on some active encouragement.

Unfortunately, I’m not the wait-and-see type.

More often, I end up rambling through something mushy or emotional or largely incoherent (especially if I start it after we open the bottle of wine) and never share it because it would just be embarrassing.

But tonight I was sitting and reflecting on my year (and as I am unable to drink much wine, my thoughts are still sensible - thanks, Boo!) and realized that it’s been a damn good one. It’s had its highs and lows like any other, of course, but its highs have been really high and for that I am grateful.

Since this day last year, I have…

The first question always makes me giggle (what kind of bloodbath do people think we’re going to have here?!), but the second one has two answers.

The short answer is: The same thing anyone else has to do when they’re expecting and have other children at home. Whether we stay home to birth or rush off to a hospital in the middle of the night, someone will have to take care of Poppy. So we’re talking to local friends and lining up a couple of options for her, depending on people’s availability.

The long answer is a bit more complicated, but starts with, “Really, we’re not sure yet.”