You know that feeling when you're waiting in line for your favorite roller coaster? You jump in line, as excited as can be, and as you slowly weave your way through the barricades and up to the platform your excitement grows and grows. As you start to climb up and can see the end of the line in sight you start to feel a little bit of nerves. When your train pulls into the station and it's your turn to jump on board, your tummy fills with butterflies, and more gather there as you pull down that lap bar or harness and you start to move. Slowly, you climb that first hill, watching the ground get farther away and the people you left behind in line shrink in size. Meanwhile, your pulse starts to race. You look at the person next to you and nervously smile or laugh, excitement and anticipation building to the point of extreme. The crest of the first hill is just moments away, and as you round over the hump and momentum starts to build your mind blanks, you adrenaline skyrockets, your knuckles turn white, and you wonder for a brief second what the hell you got yourself into before plunging down at breakneck speed. Before you know it, your back at the station, feeling shaken, excited, anxious, giggly, and most of all like you're on top of the world. That's exactly how being pregnant has felt to me.
Finding out I was pregnant was a welcome excitement. I jumped in line whole heartedly, feeling little apprehension about becoming a mother and pure and raw enthusiasm for the little life residing in my belly. Of course, there was disbelief at first, a self-preservation kind of denial the first few weeks out of fear of losing that little miracle. We had decided to start trying for a family well over a year before Jillian arrived in our lives, and with one unsuccessful pregnancy under our belts we both felt a slight detachment from the reality growing inside of me. Much like the unfocus of entering the queue of a ride, we were excited of the prospect, but desensitized to the reality.
As I started puking my guts out daily, sending tearfilled thank you prayers to God for the multiple daily reminders of my little miracle, my attachment for that little raspberry sized person grew immensely. At 6 weeks, we had seen her heartbeat and her existence, plus her presence had started to take its toll on my physicality. And every time I felt sick or nauseous, I felt thankful to know she was there, living, thriving, and using me for her betterment. By the time I hit 10 weeks, I clung to her with an attachment that I had never experienced. She was mine, and I was hers, and I was falling in love.
By 20 weeks, I was head over heels. I was at the middle of my journey. She was a wild thing, kicking and twisting and somersaulting through the days like an expert gymnast at the Olympics. With each kick, I loved her more. With each kick, my future became more defined. I was becoming a mother. What did this mean? Everything was changing so rapidly. Physically, my tiny little baby bump was growing into an unmistakable mark of a child's presence. My house was changing, with rooms rearranging and baby items taking over once empty spaces. Emotionally, I was starting to understand the gravity of life's new role for me. My marriage was changing, with my husband connecting with our baby as he started feeling and seeing her movements. A new girl was entering his life and changing his role, and he was beginning to understand along with me that our lives were no longer our own. They belong to her, the keeper of our hearts. Apprehension started to grow, much like the rider who now finds himself closer to the front of the line than the back.
When my third trimester started, I found myself hit by a whole new set of nerves. This little girl is going to have to come out somehow, and no matter how she does it, it is not going to be pretty. I remain dumfounded at how this child can possibly come out of me. Yes, I know how it works. And yes, I know it's going to happen. But woah, nelly! Back the truck up! She's big! I'm climbing the stairs to the platform and waiting to strap myself in, looking at that first hill and thinking to myself I'm crazy for doing this. And yet, the apprehension of how does not even come close to the excitement of why. Why am I doing this? Because I've been given the greatest gift on the planet, and I love this little girl more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. I wake up every day feeling lucky, grateful, thankful, and appreciative that God has chosen to bless us with her. Sometimes, I feel as though she asked God to be placed with us and picked us to be her parents, and I feel even luckier. Time to buckle up! This train is on its safety check and getting ready to leave the station!
Now, at 36 weeks, I think back over the past eight months and wonder where the time went. I think back to our struggle to conceive; the excitement of wondering if this was our month, the disappointment at discovering it wasn't, the sleeplessness at wondering if I was broken, and the longing and sadness in wondering if it will ever happen for us. None of that matters now. Now I understand. We had to wait for Jillian. She is our perfect addition, and we were waiting for her. In fact, I've been waiting my entire life to meet her. She is my reason for being. As we enter the "any day now" phase of our journey, I no longer feel scared of how she's going to arrive. I'm waiting for that moment, welcoming it, and excited to experience the complete and total miracle that is giving birth. As I start to notice prelabor signs in myself, I start to feel anxiety about how much longer I'm going to have to wait. I long to see her, and hold her, and feed her. When she gets here, I will look into her eyes and say "Hi, Jilly. I'm your mommy." I know she'll be beautiful. She's perfect already. I'm not nervous. I'm ready. And in a few short weeks, I'll have her. And on that day, my life with be complete.
The train is starting to crank up that first hill. Marshall and I are looking to each other with smiles and excitement. We don't know what's to come, but we welcome it. We've enjoyed the wait. Now it's time to enjoy the ride.
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