pregnant pausing….


I’m no good at being pregnant.

By the time I’m about seven months along,
I feel plenty pregnant enough,
eager to get on with labor and delivery
and babylove.
I was wildly eager for my own three children
to hurry on out into my eveready arms,
deciding in secret when they’d arrive
and then holding myself to that date.
When they didn’t arrive “on time”
I became discouraged
and disappointed.
My shortwaisted body and their big babyness
left me feeling overstuffed
and overdue
and irrationally afraid that they’d never
be born
at all
(could mama have control issues?)
Since giving birth to my magnificent kiddos
at exactly the right time,
(weeks later than I thought best)
I’ve carried a few dreams in my heart,
with similar angst and impatience
and seen them bloom
and grow
as well.
That they’ve all arrived safe and healthy
and of sound mind
is nothing short of grace
and lots of it.
Now again I feel ready to pop
with more than I can ask or imagine,
and I find myself anxiously pacing
the halls of my mind
feeling “past due”
and “late”
as if I’ve failed to produce soon enough
and as if embarassment is a rational response
to the rhythms of a season,
of a process.
A bountifully pregnant belly is a beautiful thing.
What if I treat my own heart
to the same gentle wonder
and acceptance.
A wonderful midwife friend of mine
slipped a pearl of wisdom into my overeager hands
about the dream gestating inside of me:
“Nature knows…full term babies are born fleshed out
and breathing on their own;
why would you challenge and rush nature?”
why, indeed.
~”I’m guessing it looks probably like a sea monkey right now and we should let it get a little cuter”
~”yes, keep it in the oven.”
-from “Juno”

blooming in my etsy