Preparing for Arrival

Every Thursday, my dad sends me a text with a number – how many weeks pregnant I am. It always makes me smile – Grandpa tracking baby’s growth, celebrating each milestone. I would typically respond with a “Yay!” or emoji that symbolized a similar sentiment. A few weeks ago, the numbers were reversed – he started counting down instead of up. My response to his last “4 weeks!” text:

“Oh, shit.”

Waiting for the impending birth of a child is this unique mix of anticipation and anxiety. There is much joy and excitement. I continue to dream about the moment we meet our son in the delivery room – in the movie in my mind, our doctor holds him up and he gives a powerful scream. He’s laid on my chest and Seth and I hold each other close and stare at this squirmy little miracle that is half of each of us. Our faces are pressed together, wet from our shared tears, as we marvel at the road we have traveled and where we are now. I know it will likely not play out exactly as it is in my mind, and I know I need to not hold on to a specific story too tightly. But I can’t help but think of how this moment is one that I was actively mourning a year ago, working to accept the fact that our fertility treatments had failed and reimagining a life where I never had a biological child. And now, I am close to experiencing it.

And then, of course, are the fears, too. In our birthing class a few weeks ago, our instructor talked about fear. We talked about how our bodies were built to grow and deliver babies, and that with the exception of a small number of cases where emergency medical intervention was truly necessary, we could trust that our bodies had everything they need to perform this amazing feat. She asked us an odd question – Why is it that we fear? What purpose does it serve us? One woman answered honestly: “I feel like if I’m actively worrying about something, I have some sort of control over it.”

Bam. She’s right.

I, too, find myself carrying this false belief. That because there is so much with childbirth and raising a human that is beyond my control, somehow holding on to worries about them gives me some sense of power. It’s as if fear is my steering wheel, and the thought of loosening my grip means that I will careen out of control over the guardrail. Into what? I’m not sure, but because I can’t see over the edge, I fear it a bit.

Later in that same class, our instructor talked about reframing our fears. When we find ourselves asking, “What if ___(insert the worst thing possible) happens?”, ask “What if ___ (insert the best thing possible) happens?”. “What if it hurts so bad and I can’t handle it?”…“What if I surprise myself at how strong I am and I can?”  “What if it lasts forever?” …“What if it is over before I know it?”  “What if it is awful?”…“What if it is amazing?” I find that the “What ifs” lose their power when we consider the full breadth of possibilities, the potential that we can experience beauty that extends our current experience, not just pain.

Recently I got a chance to practice the “what if something great happens” strategy when at a followup ultrasound. I have had a few “bonus” ultrasounds as they checked on the scar tissue from my uterine surgery, which led them to discover he was measuring a bit small, which led to another followup ultrasound to make sure he was showing adequate growth.  It was then that we discovered he is breech (butt down), despite him being head down two weeks earlier.  Most OBs will recommend a c-section for a breech birth. While the little guy still definitely has a chance to turn, I do know that each week that passes makes that a little less likely.  Immediately the “what ifs” popped into my head. What if he doesn’t turn and I don’t get to experience vaginal childbirth. What if he is one of the few babies who is breech because there is something wrong with him.  Inviting the antitheses of these fears into my consciousness feels odd and foreign: What if he does flip and I do get to experience “natural” childbirth? What if he is perfectly healthy? What if everything progresses smoothly? Considering these initially feels like that initial shock when you think you’ve poured yourself a glass of milk but you absentmindedly reached for the orange juice instead. It’s not bad – certainly good! – but is different, and for a second I am not sure how to swallow and digest it.

And also – in addition to the “what ifs”, there are other thoughts that come uninvited as well. These are what I call the “toddler thoughts” where a primitive, primal, from-the-gut thought invades my evolved, fully formed prefrontal cortex and surprises me. When I pondered the thought of a scheduled c-section, immediately the thought came: No fair. No fair. No fair.  It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but it came and it is honest and felt true at that moment. No fair. I waited a long time for this. I endured failed treatments and loss. I paid money and took valuable time to attend all the natural childbirth classes. There is a decent chance this is my only biological child. I “deserve” the chance to experience a natural childbirth.

I “deserve” it. Hmm. Really?

It’s interesting, this part of me that feels compelled to be owed a certain birth, as if it was something I’m promised. But the truth is that I’m not owed anything. I don’t “deserve” a birth that goes a certain way, just as I didn’t deserve infertility or miscarriages or even the good things, like a supportive husband and a stable job and this pregnancy in the first place. I can’t live my life thinking that I am entitled to certain things, or that I am entitled to avoid certain pains. And yet, that feeling was real. In that moment I genuinely felt I deserved that video I had slowly begun to replay in my mind, the video where I am strong and brave through labor and Seth and I slow dance through contractions, and I accept medication if I need it and there is no shame in that, but ultimately I do it, I do it – I bring our son into this world, and they put him on my chest and Seth cuts the cord, and I sob from relief and exhaustion and joy. I began to play this video in my mind as we entered the third trimester and I began to slowly extend my hand towards the possibility this baby could make me a mom. Despite knowing I shouldn’t get too attached to a specific idea of how it would happen, this video played in the background of my subconscious almost without my permission, present as I went throughout my day and occasionally in the center of my awareness when I would tap into that channel. 

And changing the channel can be hard.

There is still a chance I won’t have to. There is still a decent possibility the birth could roll out in some fashion similar to how I had envisioned it, though certainly not identical. But as I consider the possibility that I may have to insert a new video or change the channel, I am reminded of the mantra I carried long before this pregnancy, when I felt so pulled towards the idea of being a mom that it felt real and visceral on a cellular level. I tried to keep from playing any particular DVD too often and would remind myself, “I want to be open to being surprised about how God fulfills this desire.” I wanted to keep myself open to the idea that motherhood could look different than what had played in my head, and not attach myself too strongly to any particular outcome. And, on a smaller level, I want the same now. I want to be open to being surprised at how our son enters the world. I want to let his story be written as it will be, rejoicing in the beauty of it and allowing myself to feel the painful parts as well.

As I type these words, he wriggles in my belly, paying no mind to avoid my more sensitive internal bits, reminding me that he will come on his own time and in his own way. I can control his arrival no more than I can control where his next movement will be, where his head or elbow or knee will jab and whether this dance will continue well into the night or he will let mom go to sleep.  And I am reminded that this is the continuous exercise of parenthood, of learning to loosen my tense grip on control and allowing life to play out as it will, with my role as a supporting actor being crucial and critical to the outcome but also recognizing that there is much of the plot that will happen both despite and in spite of me.

And so, as we await our son’s arrival, I continue the practice of opening, of being ready to embrace a variety of different stories. I pray that I will be open to recognizing and experiencing Joy in her many costumes, available to find contentment and peace in how the next scene plays out.

Keep growing, my sweet boy. We can’t wait to meet you.