i think it's brave: every emotion, good and bad, all at once
"i imagine this will be the rest of my life as a mother" six first trimester excerpts
There was a time last year when a post with this title would be archived immediately in an act of self preservation, so I understand if you would like to skip over it <3 But if you are interested, below are 6 short journal entries from the beginning of this pregnancy. They were written at the time when, last year, things started to go a bit awry. This time, instead of naïve bliss, the beginning days were filled with silent and anxious waiting, hyper aware of the sliding scale of possibilities.
Until halfway, I really didn’t feel 100% settled, and transparently, as we monitor the growth of this tiny little girl, I still can’t. But as weeks tick by, and I feel her move, the weight on my shoulders gets lighter. I watched Maggie Rogers’ speech at NYU Tisch graduation where she advises the class of 2025 to “let your dreams be bigger than your fear.” As we get closer and closer to meeting our baby, I will hold onto this reminder. I can feel the seesaw of emotions tilting in a better direction as I come to terms with the fact that I have no control. This lack of control will actually be the rest of my life, so I just have to get on board.
Anyways, I can assure you that at 24 weeks, I am doing much better; the dichotomy of emotions is still present but it has changed in so many ways <3
This is my latest version of brave:
10 weeks and 5 days
We are walking out of the gym and a woman holds the door. She's older, maybe in her 60s, and she stops me to say, "I was watching you while I walked on the treadmill, I was so impressed. You are so strong." She is likely referring to the medicine ball slams I was doing in the corner, which were so extremely loud no one could've missed me. I felt pretty tired while I was going through my program, so much so that I skipped some exercises because my legs couldn't keep up. So this woman, with or without realizing, gave me the boost I didn't even know I needed.
I get in the shower at home and I cry tears that aren't tied to a particular emotion. This happens lately, so I am not surprised, but I try to pin down my thoughts as they fly around in the steam.
For a lot of my life, I chased skinny. Reflecting back, it came easily to me, though it never felt like enough. I was self critical, pinching and zooming in, and then looking back a year later wondering how I ever could have thought that I looked "bigger" that day. When I've talked to my family about having a baby, the consensus has been I would be a cute pregnant lady, but I was always fearful of them being wrong. Yet in the shower, I look down at my tiny growing belly and I realize a new priority. That woman is right. I am strong. And that's what I want to be, for the strawberry-sized child I am growing inside, I want to be strong. I want to teach them what it means to be strong in will, in sense of self, in curiosity, in wonder. I want them to know that strength should not be feared. I want to use my strength to hold them up. I must focus on strong. Not "toned" or "lengthened." But true strength.
This child is going to change my body in ways I cannot begin to understand. It is already sucking me of all my energy, making me hungrier for every simple carb in the world, turning my nose into that of a blood hound. But the shape of me is going to change fundamentally, and that is the sacrifice that all mothers make. It is crazy how aware I am lately of not only pregnant women around me, but also of older men who have never had to carry a child. Whose backs and hips haven't ached with the weight of a watermelon inside of them. Whose bodies have been their own, to nurture or not. Do they even understand their own great privilege? But they also do not get to grow the bond with their child from day 1, a privilege that I did not understand until now.
My relationship with myself is going to evolve over the next 6.5 months and I can feel it beginning. In the stream of water, I hold my bloated belly, which I would have once been ashamed of. I see beyond the few new pounds, new folds in my skin, and I see beauty and potential and family. I see strength.
10 weeks and 6 days
I accidentally sleep through my alarm and walk to the train at 7:10. It is 35 degrees and the birds are chirping while the sun strengthens. I start to tell the baby about the birds, about how today is a sneaky February day when we think spring is upon us, but really it's weeks away. Still we relish the peaking temperatures, the sounds of spring. I tell baby that this time next year, we will walk for hours on a day like today. We will go to the beach and sit by the water, we will listen to the waves and the birds and the silence. This time next year we will be approaching the end of my leave, we will be soaking up every single minute together as baby approaches 6 months of life. Maybe they will be chirping along by then, our little birdie, growing alongside the seasons, eyes open as the world starts to come back to life.
11 weeks 6 AM
Today could be the day. I have gone against all promises to myself and refreshed the portal as I brush my teeth, eyes barely open. Patience is not my friend. My skin is vibrating underneath the surface with nerves and anticipation. It becomes real as soon as we receive these results. We will know so soon if we get to meet you in September.
11 weeks 9 PM
I refresh the portal every 5 minutes, staring at the screen with wanting eyes. Willing the results to appear. I tell myself to put my phone down, that this is the last check of the night. A watched pot never boils etc. etc. I log off, log back in, and drop my phone on the bed spread. I stare at my husband, briefly in silence and then in panic. The results have been posted, this is where everything went wrong last time. "Do we look at the gender tonight," I ask. Aidan looks back and says, why put off the inevitable? I press view. Time stands still. And then we see the best 2 words known to genetic counseling. Low. Risk. I start to scream, looking at the next word, I scream louder. Female. I was right, my dreams 11 weeks ago that were filled with the laughter of our daughter were real. I joke with Aidan, I am psychic. I am a witch. I will be the crazy mom who said "I always knew" when her daughter turns 10, then 16, then 21. I am bouncing up and down, I am filled with so much joy and relief. A low risk baby girl, our miracle.
12 weeks
My mom secretly pulls a 6M sized onesie from a bag in the corner on our way out the door. It is for Valentine's Day, covered in hearts with a little scalloped collar. "I told myself I wouldn't do this, but it was on sale." We cannot contain our excitement, something new since last time felt quiet and cautious. She gives us board books wrapped in floral paper and pink bows. We read all of them before bed, and pick 1 to keep on my nightstand. We're Going on a Bear Hunt, the family on an adventure but ending the day under the covers. Our dream of a life. We will read it to her even though she cannot hear us for at least 4 more weeks. I don't care. I talk to her every day, talk to her about her grandparents and aunts and uncles and her dad. One day she'll kick back, let me know she's listening. But for now, I have faith and hope, which is more than I could ask for.
13 weeks 6 days
I text my husband that it's the 2 week countdown until our vacation. What a relief to know that in 14 days time we will be sitting on the beach, sun on our skin. But there is a voice in the back of my head, reminding me that in 2 weeks, we were supposed to welcome our first baby boy.
So many emotions exist in my reality, and they all hit me at once when I pull into my driveway after paddle practice. It feels like a wave crashing through my windshield. I walk through the door and into a hug, red eyes betraying me. Our first baby was supposed to be here in just 14 days and I am sad that he is not. I am sad that I am sad, because I am blessed our daughter will be here instead. I should be grateful. I am grateful, but I am also mourning. I imagine this will be the rest of my life as a mother: every emotion, good and bad, all at once.
Life is hard and soft and sad and happy and hopeful and grieving. It is round ligament pain and a growing uterus and body image issues and wishing for a bump and putting an ultrasound in a frame. It is negative thoughts and positive affirmations, it is overthinking and overwhelming. It is both unpredictable and absolutely magical. But right now, most of all, it is talking to my son in heaven and my daughter in my womb and knowing that there is love for both of them, wherever they are and whoever they are with.
I’m crying 😭 you are such a beautiful soul and person and writer, and will be/are an incredible mother. Want to hear something funny? My post that’s scheduled to post tomorrow am starts with a page from We’re Going on a Bear Hunt. It’s my absolute favorite children’s book and I read to my kids almost every day too 💕💕💕 sending you and your husband a giant virtual hug!
This was so beautiful, your writing is so beautiful. You really capture emotion so perfectly. Thank you for sharing this with the world.