Pregnancy is tough y’all. The first go round, nothing could have prepared me for it. At 36 weeks in, I told Luke that I couldn’t imagine ever being pregnant again. It’s hard.
As soon as Fleet was born, like that same day, I knew I’d do it again and again. While it was tough, it was nothing compared to the miracle at the end. And apparently that tough part is just how babies get here, there’s no way around it.
Now my days are busy; non stop from 6:30am-7:30pm, sometimes longer depending on how many chores I have left to do once the kids are in bed.
Everyday I have to find clothes that fit my ever growing belly. I have occasional sharp pains (they’re perfectly normal mom!) that render me motionless for minutes. I visit the bathroom 4x’s more often than normal. I’m starting to notice occasional, slight Braxton Hicks contractions that plagued me during my last pregnancy. I’m hungry and I try to eat healthy when what I really want is a Chick fil A sandwich (confession: I often indulge) Bending over to pick kids toys off the floor or soap up baby bodies in the tub is getting increasingly less comfortable and by the end, bath time will only happen if Luke is home. Plus I’m busy parenting 3 other humans with very real and immediate needs.
All this goes to say is that, pregnancy is tough.
But it’s also miraculous, unbelievably so. For me, it’s the truest proof of God’s existence. A person is growing in my body every day. He’s getting bigger and stronger and by the time he makes his debut, he’ll be a fully functioning human being. He’ll go from living in fluid to breathing air, with the switch of a valve that his little body will make during delivery. He’ll be able to eat and hear and cry. He’ll be a squirmy, squishy, perfect little guy and I will have grown him in my body. That’s spectacular.
This morning I was laying in bed. I heard the boys get up to go to the bathroom. I felt the baby start moving around in my belly. I had a rare moment of true awe. I wanted to tell him to stay safe and strong in there, and I’m sorry you have to hear mama yell sometimes, and oh my goodness, I love you.
My days are so crazy that I forget to take time to be grateful, to be awed. I was complaining the other day when Luke literally dropped to his knees, put his hands on my belly, kissed me and said, “You deserve to be worshiped.” He’s a bit dramatic but I’m not trading that guy for anything. I’m all about some good crazy.
I want to be mindful of the miracle and let the joy of it overwhelm me more often, just like it did this morning.
This picture was taken on my due date with my first baby.
Update: 15 minutes after writing this post, I took a shower and went to get dressed. I ended up screaming, “I just want a F***ING shirt that fits over my belly and underwear that don’t give me muffin top!” I’m pretty sure that I scared big Luke. Elle definitely stopped what she was doing and stared at me. Yes, I cussed in front of my 1 year old. At least the bigger kids weren’t around. So, baby steps. I am going to try to give myself more grace in these moments. Making myself feel bad when I clearly already feel bad, is a vicious cycle.