The day I cried

It may have been the hormones, just a pregnant day of feeling a little more weepy and sensitive, but I couldn't chalk it all up to the complex physiology of being pregnant. It was genuine and I still get teary when I think upon it.

When I was in the midst of balling, I told my husband I wasn't sure why I was getting so emotional about it. I was 20 some weeks along and I'd been thinking about how time was warping in speed. Like one of those amusement park rides that starts slow and then gains momentum until you're whirling in circles and everything is a blur. For some reason the second half of my pregnancy was going much faster than the first and while it was exciting, it also scared me.

I love having her inside me, with me everywhere I go. I love talking to her. I love that when I go to work, she tags along. At the end of the day, I reassure her, yes it's finally time to go home and Daddy will give her a kiss on my belly.

I also feel as though I can protect her quite well from this world. Not perfectly, but she feels safer in my womb. While I can't always protect her from the life stress that I encounter, I can protect her from people and many dangers in the world. I've gotten several reassurances from my doctor (with my incessant worrying) that the uterus is designed to be strong and protecting. She is safe.

And so I cried when it really dawned on me that this will change. That this time is the most I will ever be able to protect her. That her going with me everywhere I go will change. Feeling her kicks and rolls will change. That this time will come to an end. I'm going to miss that, and even as I write this several weeks later, I get a knotty lump in my throat.  I realize that it will be replaced by new joys and stages with her, which I'm eager to experience. But in that moment I told my husband, I'm going to miss having her safe and secure in my belly, in tune with me.

Fast forward to 40 weeks:

I'm due today and I am a flurried mix of emotions.

You feel like a roly poly baby now. You snuggle up from one side of my belly to the other. You do little stretches that I've grown accustomed to. Your hiccups are much stronger now, and I swear I can feel little feathery hands and fingers waving around. Sometimes you're a very strong baby, testing the limits of the uterus and it looks like you're trying to break out. Maybe you are all ready and confident for this world!

 I am excited to finally meet you! To learn your quirks and personality. To look into your eyes. I will get to interact with you in so many new ways! I'm anxious that the labor will go well and my body will be able to do something it's never done before. I'm scared for your safety. I'm nervous about parenting. I'm sad that the pregnancy is ending. I feel all of these emotions at once, which gets a bit confusing!

 I've gotten so used to you being inside me for nine months, it's as if I don't remember any differently- as if you've always been there. I hadn't anticipated this difficulty of letting go of the pregnancy, of you growing up, although we don't usually think of birth in that way. It's a big change though. For almost a year you've been connected to my body. You've been my buddy, co-experiencing my life, my ups and downs, and all the places I've gone. I could write a detailed autobiography or talk for hours with a therapist, but I think you have come the closest to an insider view of my actual experience of life. And I have become more aware of your experience or the closest that a human can of what life might be like in the womb. You made me more aware of life before birth.

Recently I saw all the pictures that the proud and emotional parents posted on Facebook of their kids' first day of school, and I realized that every stage from here on out will be a "letting go". An ending, intertwined with a new beginning. I've often had a hard time with endings, but this one is particularly hard. I've read and written about it before- how life is not static despite how much we want to cling and freeze it. Life is Motion and constant Transition, and therefore it's that much more important to actually be present in the moment. Accepting the Flow of Life.

So I sit still with you, close my eyes, and focus on your movements. I savor them. I focus my thoughts solely on you, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

We will get through this labor and delivery together. I will face my fears of the unknown and I will do this for you. We will transition to the next stage that life has to offer the two of us, and I will be overjoyed to see you develop relationships with your dad and others. You will still be my little buddy, just in a different way. And I will always be your mother, the one who carried, nourished and bonded with you before you entered this world.

*Photo credits to Angela Lynn Photography