Six years ago I was hugely pregnant and about to rip the head off of the next person that took one look at my large belly and asked "are you STILL pregnant?" or ask how I was feeling, and when I replied "fine" they would take one look at me and say "really?" or my favorite, the stranger with their hands on my belly asking "are you SURE there isn't two or three in there?". I think it is safe to say that I was slightly done with a stomach so big that I couldn't reach my feet. (Very literally could not reach my feet.) I was tired of feeling the urge to pee every time I laid down, yet when actually try, produced very little. And I was SICK of not being able to sleep. The being hungry constantly, yet only being able to eat a few bites before my actual stomach organ was too full because there was mounds of baby compressing it, that was getting old. But all that being said (and I am sure I could say more, if I thought about it long enough), I LOVED being pregnant. Talk about the fascination of being a walking science experiment. I loved that I had such a wonderful connection with Emily before we even knew her as Emily. I loved being able to feel her in there, tapping at insides or curling her toes around my rib cage, letting me know she was there. When I went into labor, I went shopping. I was pretty low on the crazy scale until that very moment when I went grocery shopping all by myself, having contractions every 10 minutes, and purchased $300 of food. Woo nesting! It was all I had left to do. I had scrubbed and cleaned and reorganized clothes and everything else I could think of. I was so ready for this baby. It seemed like an eternity within those months of pregnancy.
And then, fast forwarding through the parts where I was screaming so loud I thought I was listening to someone else scream (it really is an interesting birth story), there was my perfect, wailing ball of baby. The first three weeks were so very long. I didn't sleep. I couldn't sleep. I thought it was crazy talk when I would hear mothers say "I was up for five days straight after she was born" but nope, so true. I couldn't sleep, all I could do was stare. At how beautiful she was, and how perfect her little fingers and toes and ears were. How deliciously baby-like she smelled, how cuddly she was. I was so amazed that she came out of my body. I mean, I GREW a baby, and she came out of ME! Seriously, I have known where babies come from for as long as I can remember, but how often does the miracle of that truly sink in, other than right after you have accomplished the feat yourself?
And here we are six years later. We have survived the adjustment of separation, the first set of stitches, the first fights with friends, the first heartaches. We have relished in the wonders of nature, and REALLY gotten down with the puddles and ponds and mud. We have had dance parties and spa nights, we have sung and cooked and created together. We have fought with each other and cried together, and then comforted each other. There have been countless hugs and kisses and love notes and sweet words. And it is all still so incredibly magical. Not a day goes by where I think "what am I doing here? this isn't me or my life!" What other relationship can I say that about? Not one.
Six years of awesome. My little girl will be six in one week, and I can't believe how fast it has all been. It's a freakin' ride, yo!
And I am going to revel in all of it now so that when she is a teenager and hates me, I can ship her off to her Auntie Nessa's.
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