There is a lot to not love about being pregnant. And I spend a lot of time not loving those things. At night when it takes all my energy just to fall in to bed and I listen to the sound of my hips aching, and my huge belly rolls into my lungs while I'm trying to catch my breath from walking to bed, and then I feel hungry, but then I get heartburn, but I'm too tired to do anything about either so I just fall asleep---that is the best time to not love being pregnant.
In those painful moments it seems like there is a lot to complain about, but being pregnant is really such a small piece of my life. Such a small and powerful piece of my life. And there are a lot of things to love about being pregnant.
I love the movement. The rolling in my belly when an elbow or foot skims across the surface of my stomach. They are small, jabbing, reminders that for nine months I am never alone, and forever after being pregnant parts of my heart will never be alone because I will always be loving a child.
I love the doting. I admit it. I love that I get back rubs every night and I always get to choose what's for dinner. I love that strangers hold doors and share smiles and that other moms in the grocery store gush about how great I look even when I know I don't. The doting I could really get used to.
I love the creating. I don't have to be writing or taking pictures and still I am constantly creating. I'm creating tiny toes, squishy toothless gums, smooth round bellies, and all of the little bits of baby that surround one big, bursting with love heart.
I love the anticipation. I also hate the anticipation. But I love it because it is a challenge. I love forcing myself to slow down and savor each moment even when I'm begging time to speed up because I'm exhausted and achy. I love being in the moment, and reminding myself just how quick and important this moment is. I will never get these moments back, and as frustrating as some of them are, they are amazing.
What I love the most are the boys' love for the brother in my belly. Bub likes to rub my stomach and give kisses, he asks question after question about how the baby is growing, when the baby will come out, whether the baby's first words will be "I love you Bubba." Teeber likes to lift up my shirt and stick his sippy cup of milk in my belly button because "baby thirsty, mama." In the middle of cuddles Teeber likes to wrap his arms around my bulge and ask "baby happy, baby happy?" until I say "yes baby Teeber, your baby brother is happy." There isn't anything quite like experiencing love growing between brothers. It's like the expanding foam Tom used insulating the garage. One little speck erupts into mountain of overflowing goo, filling every crevice and enveloping every open space it touches. Rolling and rolling with love. It's beautiful.
Baby brother is scheduled to meet his brothers (and his mama and his daddy and his family) on April 12. It feels so far away. But also, it feels like tomorrow. Until then I plan on doing a lot of resting, a lot of ignoring the long to-do list of things I think I have to get done before he arrives, maybe a little bit of complaining, but mostly a lot, lot, lot, of cuddling with my anxiously waiting little men.
Read more from Jessica at bubandteebs.com