Dear future me, I’m so proud of you. You’ve overcome battles I know not of. I can’t imagine all you’ve been through this year. The tears you’ve cried, the tears you’ve calmed, the showers you’ve found a new appreciation for, the quiet moments you celebrate, and the small wins that feel lifesaving. I’m proud of you. I can only dream of her right now, but she picked us to be her Mom for a reason. She’s strong, sweet, silly, and wiggly because of us. She’s probably stubborn because of you, us. She’s growing faster than either of us wants her to. The pregnancy I’m living in today probably seems like another lifetime to you. Still, I’m proud of us. Through all the changes, the physical pains, the personal growth, and the learning curve of becoming parents, I hope you’ve gained a new appreciation for your husband and fallen more in love with him as a Dad. I hope your new title feels a little less foreign and a lot more natural. I hope you’ve found community in the most surprising places and I hope you’re writing it down. The memories, the silly stories, the moments of massive vulnerability; whatever it…
“I really wish you wore pants so you could do more of this stuff.” – My husband, Tyler At 17 weeks pregnant, I no longer wear pants around my home. Only when I go out in public do I pull up those pesky pants with the restrictive waistbands. When I’m at home, attempting to be comfortable as comfort grows more elusive by the day, the first thing to go is the pants. When the doorbell rings, I wait for Tyler to answer, despite the massive window through which I can be seen and the stranger at the door can be seen. When Luna is barking in the backyard, disrupting the semi-quiet afternoons of our neighbors, I wait for Tyler to go and check on her, to quiet her. As he got up to check on Lu yesterday, he walked out of the room and said, “I really wish you wore pants so you could do more of this stuff.” I giggled to myself, happy to remain cozy on the couch under my soft blanket. Later that night I would cough and feel a little pee come out as I did so. I fervently believe he has the better end of…
The other day, as I was leaving coffee with a friend, I turned to her and reminded her to appreciate the days she is in. She’s about 10 years younger than I am and was planning to attend a Shrek-themed rave that night. It sounded like so much fun! I never went to a rave myself, but a night out with the girls sounded like so much fun. These days, a girl’s night needs to be coordinated months in advance to ensure a babysitter is coming for the night, everyone is in town, and there are no familial obligations already in place. As I started my car, I thought about the sweetness I’m living in now that I might not be noticing. My husband, Tyler, and I have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of our first pregnancy. We’re excited to be parents, but I know we’re in a sweet time right now that we’ll look back and miss one day. With that in mind, I took to social media and asked a question. I asked,“ new Mamas or pregnant Mamas, what do you miss about pre-baby days?”. The answers came flooding in, with the most frequent response being sleep. Others included:…
I’m not pregnant. My body has been sending mixed signals for days now, but two tests have shown the same result: I’m not pregnant. No period, just nausea and tenderness and overwhelming scents in public spaces. The voice in my head is saying all the things I don’t want to hear: It’s not never, just not now. This is only the beginning. It will happen. Other couples have struggled for years. This could be a long road. You’ll get another chance next month. Just go about life. Be grateful for all you have already. These may all be true, but the one thing these ideas don’t do is provide comfort. Not a single one eases the pain, disappointment, confusion, or frustration. Not one is empathetic or compassionate. So, these are the words I’m speaking to myself instead: It’s disappointing. It’s okay to feel disappointed. We can sit in this space and feel the sorrow. It’s okay to feel confused. It’s okay to be hopeful. It’s okay to imagine what it would be like to share the exciting news. It’s okay to feel sad. It’s okay to feel the tears welling up. It’s okay to get excited about what could be….
Dear Mama,
Dear future me, I’m so proud of you. You’ve overcome battles I know not of. I can’t imagine all you’ve been through this year. The tears you’ve cried, the tears you’ve calmed, the showers you’ve found a new appreciation for, the quiet moments you celebrate, and the small wins that feel lifesaving. I’m proud of you. I can only dream of her right now, but she picked us to be her Mom for a reason. She’s strong, sweet, silly, and wiggly because of us. She’s probably stubborn because of you, us. She’s growing faster than either of us wants her to. The pregnancy I’m living in today probably seems like another lifetime to you. Still, I’m proud of us. Through all the changes, the physical pains, the personal growth, and the learning curve of becoming parents, I hope you’ve gained a new appreciation for your husband and fallen more in love with him as a Dad. I hope your new title feels a little less foreign and a lot more natural. I hope you’ve found community in the most surprising places and I hope you’re writing it down. The memories, the silly stories, the moments of massive vulnerability; whatever it…
17 weeks and counting
“I really wish you wore pants so you could do more of this stuff.” – My husband, Tyler At 17 weeks pregnant, I no longer wear pants around my home. Only when I go out in public do I pull up those pesky pants with the restrictive waistbands. When I’m at home, attempting to be comfortable as comfort grows more elusive by the day, the first thing to go is the pants. When the doorbell rings, I wait for Tyler to answer, despite the massive window through which I can be seen and the stranger at the door can be seen. When Luna is barking in the backyard, disrupting the semi-quiet afternoons of our neighbors, I wait for Tyler to go and check on her, to quiet her. As he got up to check on Lu yesterday, he walked out of the room and said, “I really wish you wore pants so you could do more of this stuff.” I giggled to myself, happy to remain cozy on the couch under my soft blanket. Later that night I would cough and feel a little pee come out as I did so. I fervently believe he has the better end of…
Mama, are you okay?
The other day, as I was leaving coffee with a friend, I turned to her and reminded her to appreciate the days she is in. She’s about 10 years younger than I am and was planning to attend a Shrek-themed rave that night. It sounded like so much fun! I never went to a rave myself, but a night out with the girls sounded like so much fun. These days, a girl’s night needs to be coordinated months in advance to ensure a babysitter is coming for the night, everyone is in town, and there are no familial obligations already in place. As I started my car, I thought about the sweetness I’m living in now that I might not be noticing. My husband, Tyler, and I have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of our first pregnancy. We’re excited to be parents, but I know we’re in a sweet time right now that we’ll look back and miss one day. With that in mind, I took to social media and asked a question. I asked,“ new Mamas or pregnant Mamas, what do you miss about pre-baby days?”. The answers came flooding in, with the most frequent response being sleep. Others included:…
Negative
I’m not pregnant. My body has been sending mixed signals for days now, but two tests have shown the same result: I’m not pregnant. No period, just nausea and tenderness and overwhelming scents in public spaces. The voice in my head is saying all the things I don’t want to hear: It’s not never, just not now. This is only the beginning. It will happen. Other couples have struggled for years. This could be a long road. You’ll get another chance next month. Just go about life. Be grateful for all you have already. These may all be true, but the one thing these ideas don’t do is provide comfort. Not a single one eases the pain, disappointment, confusion, or frustration. Not one is empathetic or compassionate. So, these are the words I’m speaking to myself instead: It’s disappointing. It’s okay to feel disappointed. We can sit in this space and feel the sorrow. It’s okay to feel confused. It’s okay to be hopeful. It’s okay to imagine what it would be like to share the exciting news. It’s okay to feel sad. It’s okay to feel the tears welling up. It’s okay to get excited about what could be….