Pregnant Pause…

This could be my very last pregnancy. After miscarrying, I realized more than ever, that my pregnancy with Barrett could have been my last. My pregnancy with Jonah could have been my last. My pregnancy in January could have been my last. As women, we plan and plan what we believe is going to be our life and sometimes, we can’t always get what we want. And so I know, the miscarriage could have been have been it. The very last time that a human life would form inside of my belly. But by the grace of God, it wasn’t. And so here we are. At the point that we have discussed since our very first date. We are once again expecting. Expecting the one that we’ve long discussed will likely complete our small little corner of the universe.

This time is no different from previous pregnancies. I love being with baby. Though we got off to a bit of a rocky start, I love, more than ever, the feeling of a life taking shape quietly inside my world. Of course I’m not Pollyanna, I can admit that the life-sucking exhaustion is less than desirable, that the current situation that has inhabited my face is not-so-endearing and the sickness I experienced with the first two pregnancies was certainly for the birds. But the idea that as I rise each morning and as I lay my head down each night, the idea that a beautiful being is coming to form, that is magnificentally significant.

And so, I want to capture this time in my life like fireflies in a jar…just to know that I didn’t let it pass me by. Just to know that I was thankful. Because time is moving insanely fast. I just want to remember every detail. Remember every little and big thing that makes getting to experience this an absolute miracle. To know that every part of raising a child, from the very depths of it all, is a gift.

I want to remember the way it feels to hear the swoosh of a heart so small it can only survive within the confines of a mother’s belly.

I want to admire the curviture of a pregnant belly on the front of my person. To cherish the firmness of that same belly that must be intentional by design; to make a mother-to-be feel comfortable with strangers reaching out for just a quick feeling of one of life’s most perfect mysteries.

The way it feels to sit. Hands rested atop a protruding tummy. Feelings of quiet understanding being passed between myself and this little light of mine.

The feeling of curiosity each day as I imagine what the world has in store for this one…what its identity will be…what its heart will hold.

The way that it feels to have the hands of my living, breathing little loves grazing my belly and saying, “hello baby”.

The beautiful intimacy of curling up in my bed, next to the love of my life, with his body spooned to mine and his hand holding the place where his newest child is growing and becoming. Part him. Part me. Part his or her very own person.

And the kicks. The movement of something that at first, each time, feels oddly alien inside of an otherwise independent being. The strange comfort that those kicks provide, communicating that I am not alone in this.

Knowing that I randomly get to be part of something so much bigger than I could ever imagine being. And it isn’t because I deserve it. Or because it’s just part of life. It is because I am lucky.

We don’t know what our family will be once this baby embarks on the world but we know that it will be full of love, laughter and gratitude (and a high probability of some intense screaming and projectile vomit…let’s be real). But for now, I hold the hands of Barrett and Jonah and I hold the hearts of number three and four. And I know that this time is special.

So I take moments to pause. Just as I have begun to do more of with my children who walk the earth. To be present in this very time and place. I pause to understand just what a thing this is that I get to do. That I, likely, won’t ever do again. That in the grander scheme of all things, is short, sweet and very much, to the point. And I breathe a deep breath. And smile.