And… I’ve officially lost sight of my vagina. People dote on me in public settings. Old ladies ask me if I’m absolutely sure I’m not carrying twins. Gracious, kind strangers remark that I’m the “most beautiful pregnant lady” they’ve ever seen.
The truth is I’ve been feeling a little down. I’m anemic, sciatic, and extra emotional. I seek levity, but it’s been difficult as I feel a little isolated, not to mention a little less in control over how this pregnancy is going. It’s such a far cry from my first pregnancy. Somehow I felt more at ease with my changing body. Of course, I was younger then too.
In actuality, I don’t have much to be sad about. My baby girl continues to grow and change inside of me. She kicks and wriggles and makes her presence known from the first light of day to the soft glow of evening. She’s healthy and vivacious. I often wonder who she’ll be. I wonder what kind of mother I’ll be to her. And then my shadow side creeps in. I worry that I am not enough. I worry that I won’t be able to give her and my other two all that they need. I worry that they won’t know that the most joyous part of my life has been watching their lives unfold.
And then I remind myself that good mothers wonder and worry and question all while loving tenderly, fiercely, and completely.
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