I'm taking a short break in the Colorado posts to talk about this little bump.
In the last few weeks, it has grown from a little belly to something I find myself staring down at for most of the day. People ask me if I'm pregnant now, which I find brave, considering I'd never dare ask a woman a question that dangerous.
I don't mind when people rub my belly and no one has had to feel the wrath of this hormonal mess I am going through. I did however find myself drinking pickle juice at midnight, and felt overwhelmingly cliche.
A sweet client knit me this little pumpkin cap for next Fall. This time next year, we'll have a 6 month old to dress in a costume. It's terrifying how quickly life changes. A year ago was just yesterday, and a year ahead will be only tomorrow.
The truth about being pregnant is that it's been hard.
My whole life I've never had to slow down for anyone or anything. I am a busy body with big plans and long to-do's and the last few months have really taught me a lesson about myself.
This isn't about me anymore. I knew it going in, and I realize it loudly these last few weeks. My body is failing me, growing tired, heavy, and weak. Sickness, headaches, flooding emotions & changes in my body remind me that I is no longer singular and we are one unit, trying to get through 9 months and safely make it to the other side.
The hardest question I have been asked is: Do you like being pregnant?
Honestly, no, I don't. I always thought one day I would find myself in a sunny, perfect morning -pregnant, and beaming with the beauty and life that is motherhood. And the truth is, that day never came for me. It has been a rough road for me, losing control over a life I had tight reigns on. Some days, a lot of days, I am cussing at all the gross and perverse things that are going on with my body. We still call baby parasite, and one night Michael told me that he was worried I really felt that way.
I really feel that way.
This is our baby and I love it in ways I've never loved anything before. I love it like a thought or idea or figment of my imagination. A story, daydream, or vacation planned 9 long months in advance.
But it's still a parasite. Making me sick, tired, causing me to faint and get hives and eat things I don't want to eat.
I'm okay with this conclusion I have come to, and don't feel like it makes me any less of a Mother to feel this way.
So I guess I have to be honest and say that while I love the reward, the daydream, the figment that will be here this Spring, I don't love the process.
But I also will say that for every 346th time I go to the bathroom, or for every smell that makes me gag or pair of jeans I outgrow, there is something special, and almost, maybe almost sunny-beautiful-beaming-motherhoody about the first time you feel your baby move inside your own body.
For five days in a row, I have felt JuJu swim like a fantail goldfish across my belly. And each and every time I can go to that spot with my hands, and feel it under my skin. A little back, elbow, head...I can't even tell. & I probably shouldn't be poking. But I am also grateful for these days. The ones that remind me that maybe this whole thing isn't so disgusting and invasive, after all.
*PS, we find out Thanksgiving week if JuJu is a boy or girl.