It’s a game I don’t play well…
This sitting,

I like to know how things are going to happen.
Plan details,

One strong contraction followed by a plethora of little ones.
And I yearn for consistency and a rhythm.
And yet simultaneously, I don’t.

I am ready.
I am oh-so-ready.

But not.

It is coming.
It will be here soon, I know.

My doubts, my fears…this time so different from the times before.
Gone are my worries that labor will hurt.
(It will.)
Gone are my worries that I won’t know what to do when I hold the fruit of my labor in my arms.
(I will.)
(And I won’t.)
(Does anyone ever really know what to do?)
(Aren’t we all just floundering our way through parenthood?)

This time my fears are based on me, my memory.
Will I remember the feel of baby kicks and hiccups?
Will I remember the breathlessness that comes with each contraction?
Will I remember the cumbersomeness of a full belly, one which begs for mercy?
Because I thought I remembered from before…
But I didn’t.
Not really.

But this time has been different, I tell myself.
I’ve purposefully taken the time to close my eyes,
Ignore everyone else,
And savor these moments.
I’ve committed them to memory the best I can.
And I pray that it will be enough.
I will remember.

Four babies, four times on bed rest.
This time so different from the others.
Instead of getting restless and pouting about what I’m missing in the outside world,
I’ve embraced the slow, easy pace that’s been forced upon me.

Read books – both to myself and to the children.
Watched movies – with them, by myself, with Marshall.
Done crafts and played games.
Taken long, leisurely baths.
Napped unapologetically.
Snuggled and cuddled.
Closed my eyes and listened with my soul.
Captured memories with my mind instead of my camera.

I am ready.
One foot stepping out into the unknown,
Ready to put a face to the new life that’s so long been a part of me.
And yet the other foot firmly planted in the here and now.
Waiting for just…the…perfect moment…
To step out,
To move onward.

When that moment comes,
I will hold my breath,
Close my eyes,
And jump across to the other bank.
I will leap from fertile soil
To dry, barren land.
Because this is it.
The final movement of a beautiful symphony that is my child-bearing years.

But here is the best part…
The dry, barren land isn’t really dry and barren.
It, too, is full of life.
I will continue to celebrate milestones.
I will continue to close my eyes and breathe in the tiny moments.
I will watch in awe as each of my children grows, changes-
In life, just as they did within me.

The cursor will keep blinking.
My story is not over yet.
Thanks be to God.

5 Responses to Waiting.
  1. Liz Sanders
    January 24, 2011 | 9:32 am

    Yes, Thanks be to God! Beautifully stated Bridget.

    You will remember it all. I do think that us forgetting the pains of labor is one way we are able to do it again. I swore I would never have another after the fiasco of labor with Rhett…yet here we are with Bella and labor with her was effortless, and beautiful. It was a great way for me to Jump across to the other side. 🙂

  2. stephanie
    January 24, 2011 | 10:57 am

    Beutiful! You made me remember, and cry on a Monday morning.

  3. punkinmama
    January 24, 2011 | 11:45 am

    So beautiful. You are amazing!

  4. Lisa Katz
    January 24, 2011 | 3:37 pm

    That was so incredible. You reflecting my feelings about my pregnancy without even realizing it. I’m going to print this out and carry it with me until delivery.

  5. domestic extraordinaire
    January 24, 2011 | 4:57 pm

    this….beautiful my friend.