Monday, March 22, 2010

Musings Over Joy

I should be in bed but am spiraling down for some kind of surge of crazy energy. I have tomorrows dinner ready for the crock pot. A quiche cooked for sometime next week. I made brownies. The cloth diapers had their final wash and are now deliciously soft. I graded 45 tests and now only have about 20 more to go. And finally I feel somewhat sleepy.

But today was a beautiful day in its simplicity and quiet. We all stayed in, tucked away from the rain. Everyone was stiller than usual as if we were all caught up in a moment outside of time, outside of bustling and hectic energy. H and I had a lot to do but there was none of that panic that comes from being overwhelmed. We just sat down and chipped away, smiling at each other reams of paper, taking turns to meet little beastie needs.

Later in the day, I made a grocery run. I needed to pick up the food I think I'd want to eat while in labor, and round out our weekly grocery needs. It was nice to be alone. I've been craving a lot of alone time lately. Usually I nap when H takes the kids out so this alone time was precious...I was conscious. On my way back, from the store, I started to think about how amazingly wonderful this pregnancy has been. I who normally hate being pregnant was really just so in the space of being pregnant this time around. It was a glorious thing to feel those first flutters that have now turned to fully belly ripples of limbs moving and a little body shifting. I didn't hurt like I normally do and despite a huge weight gain, I didn't feel unwieldy. I was able to laugh at my waddle, and to rest in the glory of my round belly. I felt strong and powerful. I still do. I hope that carries into labor.

For me this baby is a healer. It has healed much of the pain that I wrecked on my own life and on my family last year. It has healed the way that I see my body. It has given me a confidence that I did not I possessed. This baby is a miracle as all my babies were. I wish now that I had slowed down and appreciated those in urtero moments.

And as I thought about this, I felt a bit sad that this is it. I will never do this again. My body will not grow anymore life. But I still have many years left of nurturing not just this body within me but the bodies of my family that surrounds me. We are all cupped in each other's hands.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Fear and Love

In small steps for the blueberry's appearance. This pregnancy has been surprisingly easy for me. Normally, I detest being pregnant but this time have reached a very zen place with it all. Even with an almost 60lb. weigh gain. I even enjoy watching the blueberry shift my belly into waves of movement. The settling of the same belly into a lopsided lump with a tiny ass poking out. I even talk to the baby which is so not me. I used to read aloud with the others but this time I find myself caressing the poking lumps and talking directly to said blueberry. Needless to say I feel quite close already to this new life. And with that feeling of closeness comes fear.

I go into each pregnancy with less ignorance than before. And this time I feel almost too knowledgeable. Because the price for that knowledge is lots of paranoia and fear. This time I have a lot of fear surround PROM (Premature Rupture of Membranes). This is essentially what happened to me with U and C. And they were both premature. Now I've learned that babies can die from this occurrence. I didn't know that before. I just figured that it was normal to have your water break before you had contractions. I spent last night awake and worrying that I was going to lose this baby.

This is all coming from, I think, my decision to let go and love. I had realized after a very rough spring last year that I distance myself from those I love because I am scared that I'll lose them. To death. To not being good enough for them. To something. I learned it was crippling to live that way and not fair to those who loved you with the abandon that you did not have. So I let go of the fear and embraced the inferno. And it does indeed burn you up again and again. But now I"m coping with the fear that comes from not holding back. The fear that comes from being so close, so in love. First there was Umberto's first seizure, where I stood by the door unable to be in the bedroom because the thought of watching my beloved boy die was killing me. And now there is this fear that something will happen to this baby that I don't even know yet. The fear is as crippling as the holding back so I know I have to let it go. But this letting go is so hard.


Words float from others' mouths like bits of litter thrown into the wind.
They tumble about, floating for moments before descending
in whirls
almost hitting the ground.
Until you hear them, scoop them up, fold them and slip them into your