The final stretch.

I write this with swollen fingers and my belly nearly resting on the table. Baby is the size of a winter melon, and I really don’t even think I’ve seen a winter melon in real life. I haven’t written a pregnancy update since my announcement and that’s due to a lot of reasons. Firstly, I moved blogging platforms earlier this year because (honestly) I didn’t want to pay monthly for squarespace anymore and putting this blog on hiatus just felt like a needed break for me. It’s not like I didn’t have anything to say, or that I lost my passion for writing, but a part of me wanted to focus solely on my changing, pregnant body, plus working full-time, and getting as much rest as I possibly could. All I can recall feeling from this last trimester was that everything suddenly became much, much harder. Breathing. Walking. Tie-ing my shoes. Putting on pants. Eating. Driving. There were so many nights spent just crying in my bed because I felt so useless and wished for my old self again. I know that every pregnant woman has different experiences, but talking to almost every mother I know has reassured me that all of this pain isn’t for nothing and is meant for something (someone) that is so much greater.

I’m 38 weeks now. I’ve dreamt about your small toes and small hands. I’ve woken up some mornings from vivid dreams feeling like you’re right there beside me, nestled and warm, milk-wasted and breathing steady. I’ve watched your dad the past few weeks rushing to get everything prepared for you. Cleaning the whole house and washing all of your baby clothes, while I sit there, rubbing my tummy, eating, and watching Terrace House and/or Bachelorette reruns. 9 months is a long time, but now any moment you’ll be here and I could be meeting you, finally finally.

I’m already an emotional human so you can imagine how much this pregnancy has turned me into a sappy, crying mess on the daily. I’ll end this post with a poem I wrote to you one particularly hard night when my body changes were so overwhelming that I couldn’t fall asleep, but thinking about you brought me peace.

Every imperfect imprint on my skin that is an indication of my being alive.

Maybe I am taking up more space

the streaks like lightening or claw prints across my belly that remind me that life was made here out of nothing

maybe the face I see in the glass has changed but every breath I have taken has been shared with a tiny being that will love me so whole, I will forget I had ever been broken

And every step that I take is a step closer to being the one you call when you have nowhere else to go

when you’re hungry or lost, afraid that you will never be found 

your blood is my blood; tracks that will always lead you to me. 

your breath was once part of my own.

your hands that I felt against my stomach that I couldn’t wait to hold.

The one you call mother 

A part of me you will always have. 

My child I will always love 

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