Third Trimester: So Close, Yet So... Uncomfortable

Making it to the third trimester feels like crossing some kind of unreal finish line — except the race isn’t over, and now you're waddling the final stretch in slow motion with a watermelon strapped to your stomach. There’s excitement, of course — baby’s almost here! — but also? Pure, relentless discomfort.

Let’s talk about it. The bump? Massive. Sleep? A myth. Comfort? Doesn’t exist. I spent most nights doing laps between the bed and sofa like some kind of exhausted zombie. Dan would wake up to find me curled up on the couch, glaring at my pregnancy pillow like it had personally offended me. Honestly, by this point, that thing was just in the way. No position worked. No amount of pillows helped. I was like Goldilocks — if Goldilocks was nine months pregnant and constantly furious.

And just when I thought I couldn’t get any more uncomfortable — boom. Restless leg syndrome. What a fun little bonus. It’s apparently super common, but knowing that didn’t make me hate it any less. Picture this: 3am, pacing the room, slapping my legs like I was trying to exorcise a demon. I tried everything. Nothing worked — until I discovered a magnesium cream from Holland & Barrett, and I swear it was sent from the gods. That, plus baby-safe magnesium tablets, got me through… kind of. Sleep still sucked, but by then I was so ready to meet baby, I’d stopped caring.

Weirdly, the one place I did sleep like a dream? A Premier Inn. We went to Scotland for my dad’s birthday and somehow — full night’s sleep. Lie-in included. Honestly, bliss. Proof that the best sleep of your third trimester might just come from a budget hotel chain. Who knew?

Meanwhile, nesting had me in a full-blown frenzy. One morning I deep-cleaned the fridge like I was expecting the baby to inspect it. Another day, I cried because I couldn’t find a matching pair of muslins. My hormones were doing cartwheels while I ran around organising baby socks and rearranging drawers for the fifth time. Dan just stood back and handed me snacks. Smart man.

Now before this turns into a full-on rant: there were sweet parts. Like baby shower planning — or in my case, a casual garden gathering with friends and family on a warm day. Nothing fancy. Just food, drinks, and people we love. I didn’t do much (was too exhausted to function), but it was lovely. Overwhelming, yes (thanks, hormones), but still special in its own low-key way.

As the bump grew (and grew), I started taking more bump pics — partly because I couldn’t believe how round I’d become, and partly because I knew I’d miss it. There’s something surreal about carrying a whole little person and knowing the countdown is officially on. I was overwhelmed by my bump. I was trying to accept that my body was changing and would never look the same again. But I was also falling in love with my new body — because it was carrying my baby and doing a bloody good job of it.

And then comes the waiting. You basically live in a constant state of suspense, wondering when labour’s going to kick off. Every twinge feels like a sign. Every cramp makes you think this is it. Dan was on red alert 24/7. Wouldn’t leave the house without his phone on loud. He’d ring me constantly just to check — as if I wouldn’t let him know I was in labour?

There was one day we discovered ants in the conservatory, under the floor. I called Dan in a full panic (because obviously it felt like the end of the world), and he was so convinced I was in labour that he left golf mid-round. Poor guy couldn’t rest either.

Packing the hospital bag became a whole event. I obsessed over every little item. Baby’s first outfit? Had about six options. Hats? Too many. Nappies? We basically packed a full warehouse. Looking back, I definitely overthought it — but that’s part of the first-time mum experience, right? You want to be ready. You want them to be okay. Even when you know deep down, there’s no such thing as “ready.”

We used the third trimester to squeeze in some last “just us” moments — low-key dates like cinema trips with mountains of snacks. It wasn’t our usual kind of date night, but it still felt special. Like a little pause before everything changed.

I started my maternity leave about a month before my due date — three weeks of holiday, then official leave. That month was amazing.

I went for long walks (hoping they'd help things along), finished baby prep, and tried to rest. Midwife appointments. Let’s talk. I had more appointments than I could count — honestly, the clinic started to feel like my second home. One week I was in twice because baby’s movements had slowed down, and even though everything turned out to be fine, the worry was constant. And then came the sweeps. Oh, the sweeps. I had three from 37 weeks and let me tell you — it’s a whole new level of uncomfortable. You and your midwife will get very familiar, very fast. But in all seriousness, my midwife was incredible. She made me feel as comfortable as humanly possible in a situation where you’re literally having your cervix poked and prodded. She always checked in, made sure I was okay, and honestly? Her calm energy helped me more than I realised at the time. I had high hopes for curb-walking, convinced it would get things going. Spoiler: it didn’t. Baby will come when baby’s ready. But one walk did end in drama — I slipped off the curb at 37 weeks and landed right on my bump. We rushed to the pregnancy unit to get checked over and thankfully everything was okay, but it was a big scare.

The third trimester is wild. You’re achy, tired, emotional, excited, and impatient — all at once. But through the sleepless nights and swollen everything, you can feel the finish line. You know you’re about to meet the tiny person who’s been kicking your ribs for months.

It’s painful. It’s magical. It’s a lot. But somehow, it’s exactly what it needs to be.