21 weeks

And yes, I do know it's 21 weeks. But only because we braved the health visitor last week and she told me it was 20 weeks. She also told me baby D was too skinny and we had to start weaning him onto solids, a lot earlier than I wanted to. I don't think I need to spell out how that felt...but if I did it would involve the letters b, a nd d. Another thing I can't get right. You get the picture.
Even leaving that aside, this has not been a good week. I can tell it's not good when I start depending on other people, without actually letting them know I'm depending on them.
Or when I can't even be bothered to explain it all, even here.
You know when you see a small child walking a big dog and they are being dragged along and literally can't stop it? That's how my mind feels at the moment. That old friend anxiety is back, with a few extra guests. I know it's irrational. I know the fact that Miss T has a sickness bug doesn't mean she's going to die. Or that if we put baby D (age almost five months, remember!) in his own room at night he will be fine and I won't go in there to find him lying cold and still. But I can't help it. I can't stop it. And I can't tell you how much I hate that.
I'm great at telling others their feelings are valid. And I know mine are too. But at the moment they are not welcome. Or useful. And they have no place in my life. But I can't make them disappear. And at the moment, I can't really let them out either.
So I'm stuck in no-mans land. Where I spend my days being dragged after that big dog (metaphorically - my dogs are too old and too well-trained on the lead to attempt to drag me anywhere!), my feet skimming the surface unable to get a firm hold. Where I can see trees and fence posts and other things that I could grab onto but I keep missing them or losing my grip.
But I'm going back to work next week. And I'm hoping that will at least persuade the dog to stop for a breather...