I have a friend who is bursting at the seams of pregnancy. She’s my “pea” and I am hers. We are two “peas in a pod” because we both have similar issues and personality traits that make us often go, “NO WAY!! ME TOO!!!” (She even bought us necklaces with two peas in a pod!) These days she is in that “GET THIS DAMN THING OUT OF ME NOOOOOOOOOW!” stage of carrying the most beautiful miraculous creation of a human being.
Every mother has a story of her pregnancy (pregnancies) and births of her child (children). Some are smooth and like a fairy-tale, while others are terrifying and more like a nightmare. I know of mothers who have embraced every minute of their pregnancy and adorned the blessing of childbirth. I also know moms who have felt the terror of almost losing a child, or survived the loss of their precious miracle. It’s quite possibly the greatest and most surreal journey a woman can experience, as it transforms her entire life from the inside out.
With Mother’s Day anticipation, I think of my ‘overly pregnant’ and ‘begging God for mercy’ friend, because as every mother can attest to- she has clearly already sacrificed her share, for this Maddening and Marvelous calling of motherhood. She has two other precious children (she might debate the precious part at times!), a full time job as the main “bread-winner” of the family, and juggles to keep a sound and beautiful family, withstanding the usual crises and medical anomalies.
Entering her third trimester as baby three was appearing to want to come out, the doctor put her on bed rest for weeks with the urgency of keeping this bulging baby in her womb to cook a month longer. Stuck on the couch while her world was spinning faster and faster all around her, she did what any mother would do for her child. She forced herself to deny all that comes naturally to her. She kept captive her intense inner drive to do it all and be it all, for the sake of this baby. She battled the ongoing threats of “I need to do this. I should do that. Who’s gonna do this? And who’s gonna do that?” that circled around her head like vicious vultures aiming in for the kill. She forged through the long miserable sleepless nights like a warrior in heat of the last trimester fire.
So as the days crawled into the next, she waited for the magical birth doors to be allowed to open, fretting for the baby not to come too soon, doing everything to keep the baby inside for just a wee bit longer…as all the significant people rush to be in town “just in case”.
She persevered. And persevered. And endured. And endured.
That’s when motherhood did what it does best…
It trips you.
From the moment of conception, it’s little foot slips out on your well controlled and extremely prepared path and knocks you over. Every little detail is derailed. Every tiny thought is questioned. Every precious plan curtailed. Every day a new plan. Every minute a new thought. Every second, a new detail. Fumbling, falling, faltering, frenzied and frayed… you get back up every time to try again.
There is nothing about motherhood that is predictable except that you always remain a mother. That is the only constant in an ever-changing world of having a child and each hour, day and year that you try to successfully carry out this Motherhood gig.
So as my dear pea has been given permission to open the doors of childbirth, the time has come to have this baby! And yet, the baby has not come. Everyone frozen in awe that this baby hasn’t arrived yet, she does everything under the sun to make this baby move on into this world. She tries and tries…
And she is reminded that her plan was never really hers. And she realizes once again in this journey, that this new creation has a will and a plan all its own…
Third child for her, and the start of another brand new bumpy path to trip on.