I think I’m lucky. I’m one of those women who LOVE to be pregnant. I have heartburn and sore hips, an itchy belly, random hairs springing up all over the place (hm, perhaps it’s PAUL who should be wary of these changes), the sciatica so bad you can’t even know the pain. Still, every morning I wake up, stroke the pointy strangeness that is my new belly and grin.
I’ve been told pregnancy agrees with me. In fact, I agree with pregnancy. I’m happy, I’m delighted, I’m creating a life. Sure, sometimes she boots me in my cervix, or seemingly stands on my bladder, which causes both pain and a moment of quick worry about peeing myself- which is not good at work.
During the day, while hunched over the mess that is my keyboard (lots of eating goes on above this sucker), she’s there, just pounding away on my uterus, letting me know she’s here and that she’s quite enjoying the lemonade I shared with her. During my many pee breaks, I sneak into the bathroom, pull my shirt up (not all the way, this ain’t Mardi Gras) and marvel at what I’m blooming into. I can’t get enough of this feeling, the strong muscles surrounding the precious cargo I am carrying, the thumps I can feel from the outside when she kicks. It’s both common and a miracle- and I’m doing it.
I don’t quite have the glow, but I have the bliss. Finally, after nearly a year of watching others get pregnant and give birth, seeing the rounding of their bellies while mine continued to be empty and cold (and yet, still round), I began to feel as if it would never happen. It has happened, I’ve gotten here. I’m becoming what I wanted for so long- a mother to be.
As painful and uncomfortable those little jabs and thumps can be, every time I feel one knocking me from inside I want to put my hand in my pants and cheer. Since I would rather NOT be arrested, instead I wait until I get home, spread myself on the couch and tuck my hand in my pants. If you’re calling me and I sound muffled, it’s because I’m hands free- one hand keeping me from falling over and the other chasing her around my uterus.
I love being pregnant. I love being responsible for another being’s life force, feeding her the good things; the sweet, the spicy, the tart. I know she loves lemonade and KROQ, when Daddy’s hand is on my belly she calms down. When my hand is on my belly she runs from it. I wonder if that’s a sign of a Daddy’s girl? I am blessed, and want to thank the stars for finally deeming me worthy of her- I guess on the waiting list of Mommyhood, waiting a year isn’t so bad. This is the baby I was meant to have- perhaps I would have been less gracious should I have received her by accident, or right away. Perhaps not, though- who can really tell?
All I know is that I love where I am right now. This is where I was meant to be.
