Pregnancy, in my experience, sucks.
It will be over in 67 days at the very most, and I am deeply deeply deeply grateful for that.
Except that there’s part of me that’s oddly not.
Pregnancy has had some truly awesome moments…like feeling Emby kick, and like being able to protect her.
In 67 days she’ll be in this world, and like it or not I will have lost some of my ability to protect her. Every day that passes will result in some additional loss of protection until one day I send her out in the world (maybe off to college, maybe to do volunteer work in another part of the country or in another country) and I will not be able to protect her even one little bit.
She’s going to have her feelings hurt. Some kids will not want to be her friend. Some kids will be mean to her. Some people are going to break her heart. And while I will bear witness to it, and bear scars on my heart because of it, I can’t spare her any of it.
It is overwhelming and scary to think of the world that she’s entering.
There are times when even the idea of the stairs near my townhouse that lead down to the parking lot overwhelm me when I think about the tiny Emby in her carseat, a foot of snow and ice, and the fact that I’m a klutz…stir and mix well.
But fear can’t rule anyone, even a mom (and I’m told worrying is definitely in the job description).
I can only take hope in the idea that if husband and I do a good job at raising her to be a kind and generous person who is aware of the priveledges who is strong, smart, and independent that she will walk out into that big scary world and make a bright future for herself. That, I would be happy to witness, and that will heal all the little scars that form on my heart in the early years.