Perhaps the hardest thing about being heavily pregnant is not the sore back, swollen body or aches and twinges which are now very apparent.
It feels weird to say this but these things feel nice or perhaps the right word rather is, reassuring. Simply because they remind me of how lucky I am to be here and of how real this all feels.
The hardest thing about all of this is that I can’t forget.
Belly bulging, I field ‘Is this your first?’ more times than I care to navigate and so to make for an easy escape I quickly say ‘yes’, not liking how that sounds.
When I lost Penny I wrote about how I felt like I was somewhere in between, not less just somewhere else. Yes I was a Mum but it was almost like a role I played in secret. To strangers I didn’t look the part and perhaps to other mothers I wasn’t entirely ‘there’ yet either. Or maybe that is just how I viewed myself. My first child didn’t need looking after because she grew wings long before I knew she could fly and suddenly I was the one who felt small and fragile. A mother who was in a way still vulnerable like a child.
Nearly a year on and so much has happened. So much healing, growing, changing. Losing myself only to find someone stronger in my place. And here I am, once more with child and at a turning point.
On the cusp of something profoundly unknown yet strangely familiar. It’s like I’m being lead out to a place that I knew once upon an uneasy memory.
Waiting, wondering, fearing, hoping. Always hoping.
Hoping that I’ll finally be able to have, hold and know what has so far, eluded me.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for this.
But I know I’ve never wanted anything more.