Updated: Mar 21, 2020
Theodore sleeps longer stretches during the day, which creates space between us. When I move through the world alone, I feel disoriented: I’m not the woman I was before pregnancy. I’m not the woman I was while he was in my womb. I’m not quite sure who I am right now, but that’s ok. I’ve grown. He is here and with our new normal comes the process of self RE-discovery.
Having navigated this transition so many times, I recognize the messiness. Experience might take the edge off, but it doesn’t make the metamorphosis easy. While I know it’s fleeting, I still feel it all: Sallow womb, heavy body, tired eyes, and overwhelm. A sadness and grief for the completion of a 9-month long adventure filled with magic I’ll never feel again. Why did I want it to be over so badly? I chastise myself for not savoring every last moment of pregnancy. So ensues my tumble down the rabbit hole of rumination...
But I catch myself with a reminder of how hard it really was: The physical pain, the sleepless nights, the constant anxiety about his wellbeing having lost many a pregnancy before. Bringing him to life is a journey I wouldn’t have consciously chosen to walk again, because I didn’t have the courage. He came regardless.
He was meant to be. He made it to my arms, and each moment we coexist seems nothing short of a miracle.
By the time I pull my thoughts back to reverence and awe, he is awake and needs me. His squeaks call in the milk and when I scoop him up, I feel my heaviness fade beneath his softness. Oxytocin pulls me away from anxiety by shifting my negative lens to love. There’s a distant longing to be and do more than I am right now, but whoever she is can wait. Together in our cocoon of love, I forgive my imperfections. All I have, all I am right now, is suddenly enough.
One day soon, we’ll both be ready to soar and we won’t fly together. As I discover new depths within myself, he’ll uncover the world around him by moving away from me. So we’ll stay right here, right now, like this, for as long as we possibly can. It’s sad, it’s joy-filled, it’s messy, and it’s divinely perfect all at once.