At times, it feels like the the only constant for me is my mother’s love as well as the love I now have for my little guy. A mother’s love.
Nine months postpartum, I’m a heavier version of myself. I weigh more than I ever have In my life. I weigh more than when I was pregnant. But it’s ok. Well, it’s not ok…I don’t like it.
I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker. Actually, I’ve never been a coffee drinker at all. I never felt I needed it, nor did I like it very much. But during that week of early commutes downtown, after sleepless nights with a baby...I was excited to get my daily mocha. I felt like I’d joined some exclusive crew, that I’d never been apart of.
I felt as though I was in a rut. I felt quite unmotivated and couldn’t muster the energy to write, anything. I felt like I wasn’t accomplishing what I’d set out to achieve in terms of my writing goals. This feeling has passed however, and six months into 2018, I look back and realize that I’ve written about 12 blogs so far. How can I feel down about that? At this halfway mark, in 2018, with only 12 more months to go of maternity leave, it’s important that I reevaluate my writing goals. I need to use my time effectively. I’m writing, great. But, what am I writing? What do I want to write? I already know the answer to that question. I want to write children’s stories...picture books...children’s literature.
I feel like my body isn’t mine. It’s its own entity, doing it’s own thing. I try to breathe through it all. Everything I thought I would want to do while in labour is gone. My plans of dancing this baby out, gone. All I want to do is lie down. But it doesn’t work. Not much offers any release. Only during the breaks between contractions, do I feel no pain. I’m rubbed and massaged. I try to dance, for a bit...but then another contraction rocks my body.
It’s spring. There are blossoms everywhere. I’ve always loved Spring. Always thought it to be a beautiful prelude to the warmth to come. This particular Spring I have an extra spring in my step, literally. The birds chirp more loudly. Blossoms shine more brightly and even look bigger. I am filled with quiet optimism.
Boy? Girl? Keep it a surprise? The midwife hands us a folded piece of paper with the gender enclosed. Do we look? Do we wait?