We had a fight the other day. Your daddy and I. We are so sorry about that – as I know you would have heard it. Well, you would have heard me anyway, as your daddy spent the entire time just staring at me dumbfounded. Poor thing. Wondering what on earth was going on I bet. Watching his wife ride a roller-coaster of emotions right in front of him.
To be honest, I don’t even remember what it was that specifically upset me – I just remember feeling so overwhelmed and out-of-control – with my body, my feelings, my future – and it all came out on a quiet Saturday afternoon. The climax of the situation, saw me sitting on a swiss ball in the living room, balling my eyes out, with your daddy sat on the edge of the couch next to me. So much change in the last 2 years – from living in London and getting paid to perform Shakespeare, to moving back to NZ, the familiar culture shock, the familiar starting over, a new relationship, a different career path, getting engaged, getting married, falling pregnant, moving house…
It’s irrelevant that all of those changes are things I embraced. It’s irrelevant that I have never been happier in my entire life. Change, especially so much of it, can be both unsettling and exhausting. “I don’t even know who I am right now…” – one of the things I remember crying into your daddy’s arms. And he held me, and I’m not sure if he said anything at all, or if just his being there holding me said enough. But eventually my entire vulnerability came out and I was able to look up at him. And baby, I saw a single tear had been falling down his cheek. And my heart fluttered. I told your daddy how much I loved him and reassured him that I didn’t want to be anywhere else, and he just held me some more.
Nothing is wrong with me, baby. I don’t need to do anything – I’m just riding the wave, and allowing every feeling to flow through me. Every woman who has ever been a mother before will understand. It’s very normal, and very understandable. But it’s also very important to acknowledge when we are feeling vulnerable, or exhausted, or unsure, or frightened. And being able to do that doesn’t make us weak. In fact, the very opposite – I believe we find our true strength, by being at our most vulnerable. Having you come into my life leaves me feeling more vulnerable than I have ever felt before, baby – because I feel completely responsible for you – and yet, at the same time, I also feel stronger than I have ever felt before too.
Later that day, baby, I asked your daddy if I had made him cry – and he told me just how sad he had felt seeing me so lost. And I know how hard he tries to make my world whole – how hard he works to provide for us, how supportive and encouraging he is of me and my abilities, and how he spends a lot of his own time at the moment just making my days more comfortable – cooking for me, picking me up when it’s raining, running me a bath, telling me I am beautiful when I don’t look it – he looks after me in every way. And I don’t take him for granted for one single second, baby, but lately I have realised – that however hard this transition is for me, it is every bit as hard for him. Except, he doesn’t get to feel you. He doesn’t get to spend his days with you. He doesn’t know what’s happening to us, beyond what I tell him. And yes, giving birth to you will take strength and courage and will be the biggest thing I have ever done in my life so far. But, ultimately, you are my baby and my body is made to birth you. How I approach that, how I deal with that – the point remains that, one way or another, my body will birth you. That’s the easy bit, and I have it.
Your daddy, he has the hard bit. He has to see the changes, the challenges I am going through and be unable to help. A willing helper with his hands tied. He has to know how much I love him, even when I want to be alone. He has to know how happy I am, even when I am lost in tears. He will get to watch the joy and ecstasy of me bringing our little baby into this world, knowing that I could do it all (physically) without him. But what he doesn’t know, is that he is the one holding us together, making it happen. He is our tower of strength, our voice of reason, our gentle hand. Inside his love we are found, baby. He is the one keeping us going.
And so whatever the future holds, whatever changes are coming – so are you. And I mean this when I say it, baby – I am so sorry you heard my broken words this week. But I have never, ever been happier. And I don’t want to be anyone else but yours. Ours.
Baby, sometimes I so wish I could just crawl inside and hold you! To kiss you and tell you how much you are wanted. But it’s not much longer to go now, baby; soon you will be with us.
And we cannot wait to see your little face.
Your Mumma. Xxx