Hi sweet girl. As I type this, sitting in front of the fire, you are wiggling away inside me. I feel you always. Your twists and turns, your kicks and hiccups. I love how reassuring it is, to always know you're there, that you're growing and okay. I complain because it keeps me awake, and I sleep so little right now. Sometimes it hurts. My body, large as it looks to me, is quickly becoming too small to contain you. But in the end, I love knowing you're there. We waited for you and wanted a baby for so long.
On Christmas Eve, I turned over and didn't feel you wiggle. I praised God that you were actually still at 3am, and went back to sleep. By 4am, I woke up because you were so still. I did all the things that usually make you jump and squirm. I lay flat on my back until it hurt. I went to the bathroom. I drank a big glass of ice water. I pushed and poked at you from every side. I waited, and nothing. I don't think that I've gone 10 minutes without feeling you move in months, and suddenly the stillness was completely disconcerting. I wiggled so much that your daddy woke up and so we lay there in the dark, hands on my belly, trying not to worry about you. Because of how things went with your sister we have already been told to monitor your movements. If I feel you are being too quiet in there, I'm to proceed straight to the hospital. But it was early Christmas morning, and your sister was about to wake up to open presents. And you were fine. You had to be fine. I was overreacting. I do that, sometimes. Daddy and I prayed. I may have tried to go all Pentecostal on you; I whispered the verse, "in Him we live and MOVE and have our being" and commanded you to move. And still, nothing.
Just as I was starting to figure out what it would logistically look like to go in, you kicked. Daddy didn't feel it and I was afraid I'd imagined it. But then you kicked again and your Daddy took a deep breath and I burst into tears. And suddenly, I knew that we didn't just want a baby. I don't just want a sister for Bella. I want you. Emma Camille, created in the image of God, already a complete person, with a personality and a destiny and a calling. You don't exist in the moment I hold you. You have always existed. Your spirit has been known to God before you ever entered my womb. I don't know how that works, but it does. It comforts me.
Can I tell you something? I feel very guilty for how little I like being pregnant. It's our first moments together, these few months where it's just us, and I don't enjoy it. Somehow that feels like I'm rejecting you. I'm not. We wanted you, prayed for you, and longed for these exact symptoms for over two years. I knew I was taking risks having another baby, that in all likelihood it wouldn't be an easy or uncomplicated pregnancy. We are in the final stretch, and you've done very well. It's me, really. Some women just love being pregnant. It's like their bodies were designed to do nothing but bring life into the world. I hope you are like that. I am not. I throw up incessantly, and when that stops, then I have a few weeks of rest before my liver freaks out, which I've thankfully avoided thus far, or my pelvic bones slip out of place. This is a new one. I'm sitting here, happy that my Tylenol has taken the edge off, and am waiting for a call from a chiropractor. I'm not to go to work again until I've seen one. It hurts. It feels shockingly like the first couple days after having a baby. I won't tell you what that feels like, except that the only thing that makes it okay is the ability to finally snuggle your baby. I want to snuggle you. I cannot wait to hold you. I saw a photo of a new mom I know, and there was her baby snuggled on her chest with those gorgeous heated blankets they pile on you after you've delivered. The longing to see your little face, to be the one under that pile of blankets, knowing it was all over, nearly crippled me (which is apparently an easy thing to do). I can't wait until that's us. I love you already, tiny girl. We can't wait to see you.
Love, Mama.
On Christmas Eve, I turned over and didn't feel you wiggle. I praised God that you were actually still at 3am, and went back to sleep. By 4am, I woke up because you were so still. I did all the things that usually make you jump and squirm. I lay flat on my back until it hurt. I went to the bathroom. I drank a big glass of ice water. I pushed and poked at you from every side. I waited, and nothing. I don't think that I've gone 10 minutes without feeling you move in months, and suddenly the stillness was completely disconcerting. I wiggled so much that your daddy woke up and so we lay there in the dark, hands on my belly, trying not to worry about you. Because of how things went with your sister we have already been told to monitor your movements. If I feel you are being too quiet in there, I'm to proceed straight to the hospital. But it was early Christmas morning, and your sister was about to wake up to open presents. And you were fine. You had to be fine. I was overreacting. I do that, sometimes. Daddy and I prayed. I may have tried to go all Pentecostal on you; I whispered the verse, "in Him we live and MOVE and have our being" and commanded you to move. And still, nothing.
Just as I was starting to figure out what it would logistically look like to go in, you kicked. Daddy didn't feel it and I was afraid I'd imagined it. But then you kicked again and your Daddy took a deep breath and I burst into tears. And suddenly, I knew that we didn't just want a baby. I don't just want a sister for Bella. I want you. Emma Camille, created in the image of God, already a complete person, with a personality and a destiny and a calling. You don't exist in the moment I hold you. You have always existed. Your spirit has been known to God before you ever entered my womb. I don't know how that works, but it does. It comforts me.
Can I tell you something? I feel very guilty for how little I like being pregnant. It's our first moments together, these few months where it's just us, and I don't enjoy it. Somehow that feels like I'm rejecting you. I'm not. We wanted you, prayed for you, and longed for these exact symptoms for over two years. I knew I was taking risks having another baby, that in all likelihood it wouldn't be an easy or uncomplicated pregnancy. We are in the final stretch, and you've done very well. It's me, really. Some women just love being pregnant. It's like their bodies were designed to do nothing but bring life into the world. I hope you are like that. I am not. I throw up incessantly, and when that stops, then I have a few weeks of rest before my liver freaks out, which I've thankfully avoided thus far, or my pelvic bones slip out of place. This is a new one. I'm sitting here, happy that my Tylenol has taken the edge off, and am waiting for a call from a chiropractor. I'm not to go to work again until I've seen one. It hurts. It feels shockingly like the first couple days after having a baby. I won't tell you what that feels like, except that the only thing that makes it okay is the ability to finally snuggle your baby. I want to snuggle you. I cannot wait to hold you. I saw a photo of a new mom I know, and there was her baby snuggled on her chest with those gorgeous heated blankets they pile on you after you've delivered. The longing to see your little face, to be the one under that pile of blankets, knowing it was all over, nearly crippled me (which is apparently an easy thing to do). I can't wait until that's us. I love you already, tiny girl. We can't wait to see you.
Love, Mama.
1:18 PM
Amazing post. I cried with you in parts and can't wait to hear to rejoice with you when she arrives.