When I made a more serious commitment to blogging, I was six days away from having Ella. Unfortunately, I had lost much, if not all, of the work I did documenting my first pregnancy journey for my job (this is where I learned to always back up your work - duh). So I decided to take this post, 3 days away from another due date, to reflect on the last nine months.
If you've been following my pregnancy updates, you know this pregnancy has been so different from my last. Morning sickness seemed to never leave with my first and never seemed to truly hit me during this pregnancy. During my first pregnancy, I worked throughout. The second? A desk job wasn't in the picture. With my first, I had a deep sense of loneliness and isolation and craved to be back in my home state of Michigan. And, while this time around, I've experienced a twinge of hurt here and there of not being able to share this journey with some of the people I love most, I've felt stronger, more equipped, and energized by the love and support of the family that surrounds me. Everything seems different, down to our current zip code.
This pregnancy hasn't gone by without struggle, and I suppose that's to be expected with every pregnancy. Having a baby is such an accomplishment and a great blessing, but I can't help but to feel deeply for the woman nestling a water bottle and pack of saltines while clearly struggling to fill out her paperwork at the doctor's office or the woman who is struggling to walk and looking like she's seconds away from breaking down. The sacrificial aspect of parenting begins while our babies are in the womb, and I think it often times takes us off guard. It goes far beyond the simple realities of not being able to eat salami (damn) and kick back with a hard cider, it means getting up in the morning with a smile on your face even though within seconds you'll be greeted by pain when you get out of bed. It means thanking God for the ability to carry a child despite how many sleepless, heartburn-filled nights you have.
I've tried to make that my focus over the past nine months. God (and my husband) knows I've struggled. I've complained, I've cried, I've claimed I'm not having another child for at least 5 years, but at the end of the day I head to the fridge where my 3D image of my little guy resides and am overcome with gratitude.
I've always wanted a boy in the vague wouldn't-it-be-cool-to-dress-a-little-guy-in-flannel sort of way. Now I'm excited my husband will have a son, Ella will have a sibling, and I'll have a little guy to call "bud" (and dress in cute flannel). I'm not looking forward to lengthy burps or getting excited over spiders or making mud angels, but I'm sure I'll grow to love those things as I experience them through the eyes of a curious little boy.
So hurry on up, little dude, 'cause mama's impatient (I'm working on it) and we're all over eager to meet you and snuggle you and gift you stuffed animals and all things cute baby boy.