I’m 40-weeks pregnant with our third child. This was a
planned pregnancy. And it’s been an easy one. No health concerns. No morning
sickness. A supportive husband who has borne the brunt of my need for sleep, for
someone to unload the groceries and take the children sledding. And yet I’ve
found myself bemoaning my pregnant state. Not only that, I’ve found myself
bemoaning the upcoming year: the pain of labor, the sleepless nights, the fact
that I won’t have “my body back” until I’m done nursing.

Other parents contribute to my complaints. Moms shake their
heads and say, “Get ready to be exhausted,” or, “You’ll get through it,” or
“I’m glad I’m not in your shoes.” A friend of mine, a mother of three with a
fourth on the way, consoled me with the words, “Having a baby means losing a
year of your life. But it’s only a year.”  

The month of January has been a tease. I was early with my
other two pregnancies, so I never expected to make it to my due date with this
one. As it is, contractions start and stop. Our kids say, with a plaintive
tone, “When are you going to the hospital?” But I’ve been grateful for what feels
like extra time.

We’ve accomplished the practical goals: set up the nursery, wipe off the diaper genie, wash the carseat cover, buy a minivan to replace the Prius. But the more significant preparation has happened in my mind and heart. In the past few weeks, but only in the past few weeks, I’ve become excited to meet this baby. Not simply excited about who he or she will be in two or ten or twenty years, but excited about who he or she is right now.

I had been thinking that the year ahead entailed only sacrifice and loss. Loss of sleep. Loss of time to work. Loss of freedom. And I had tried to balance that sense of loss with the gains that would come down the road. I thought the sacrifice would be redeemed in the future, when I reached the stages of mothering I enjoy more naturally–the learning and talking and becoming more independent stage.

But I’ve realized that my attitude forfeits the joy of the present moment. The wonder of little feet and tiny fingers and a warm babe depending upon us to teach, to love, to protect. A friend of mine shared a quotation from a yoga teacher who remarked, “You cannot increase your awareness of the human body without also increasing your compassion.” As I embark on a deeper awareness of my own body in labor and delivery and nursing, as I embark on a new awareness of this baby’s body with whatever particular needs s/he brings into the world, I would go a step further. As I pay attention to my body and to my child’s body, I can prepare for an increase in my sense of wonder, gratitude, and love. 

So as I approach week 41 of pregnancy, I do so with hope that I can embrace the year ahead even as I embrace the little one who will soon be with us. I do so with hope that the messy, uncontrollable, tiring time of growth and change will be a gift to our whole family. Something, someone, who can change us all for the better as we learn more about how to love and serve one another. Someone who will remind us of how interdependent our lives are meant to be.