Photo by Cresta Kruger

I have felt a little strange all day. After such buoyancy following my magnificent blessing way, which lit my heart completely, the days seem odd, conjoined, one flowing into another. After eleven letters written to Isaac, and 21 left to go, I feel time slowing as I wait for his return, and yet a day passes and I wonder whether I made the most of it.

I have been wanting to share so much, as so much has been happening in my life, and yet (there are so many yets) it feels as if my life is barreling on with the vigor of the horse whose year we are greeting. It seems like one minute I find myself waking up to a new day, and the next minute it is evening and I need to think about feeding myself and my growing baby. I am proud of myself for doing all that I’m doing ‘alone,’ working two jobs as I transition out of one and into another. With Isaac away, making dinner becomes a feat of creativity and resourcefulness (I am lucky that he usually cooks for us!) and I find that I’m not very hungry these days, except after breakfast when the requests for high calorie foods flood in. Peanut butter toast, coconut oil, croissants.

Perhaps this is the calm before the storm, when at almost 36 weeks pregnant, time is discombobulating itself from all logic, and my days feel mostly the same. Surely it’s a side effect of being in one place for a long time, not moving far from home, simply doing the work I must do and preparing my life in the best ways I know how. I walk to the water, through the forest. I drive to the mechanic, the midwives, the market. Yesterday I met a remarkable nurse practitioner whose office is her house, surrounded by a subsistence garden, and who was taught homeopathy and herbology by elderly neighbors when she was a young girl, “eating things from the wild which people might frown upon.”

It is quiet and the rain is falling. To be honest I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. No company is necessary. I know I am not alone. Not just with our dear baby laying snug in my womb, punching my bladder every now and then, but surrounded all the unseen energies and the support from loved ones everywhere, sending us well wishes. I have felt buoyant in a way I’ve never before, which is a wonderful feeling to embark upon a birth with.

Tomorrow is the Vernal (Spring) Equinox, and I am sensing the turning point. Last night I finished my first fiction novel, which also feels strange. I suppose I thought it would be more painful. It was instead very easy. I had noticed a few days ago that I was resisting finishing the story, because to be in the mystery of creation, pregnancy, gestation, is a nice place to be. A constant becoming of something not yet defined. There is a freedom to wonder what something could be, instead of to know what it is, which subsequently sparks debate, critique, discussion, reflection.

It is quite sad to be finished. The ending of the final chapter is like a nail in a coffin. Yes, I can open the coffin and rearrange the flowers a bit, but soon it must go into the earth or the fires and re-nourish life. I must let my babies go.

Tree of Life by Peter Lik

There is much I’m looking forward to, and much I can’t quite predict. If I’m honest with myself, I know that it’s likely I’ll have many more times lived physically distant from my beloved Isaac, which makes my eyes get hot and some denial creep in. I don’t want us to be apart. Yesterday I discovered the first song he had ever sent me, just a couple of days after we had met, which we ended up writing the lyrics for just three summers ago. The song is called As You Are, As You Were, and as it played yesterday I was moved by how far we have come, and how passionately we still love each other. The sun was falling over the mountains beyond our windows and there was a bouncing chair waiting for a baby in our living room. The gratitude I felt and feel daily for the opportunity to love Isaac is overwhelming. He has given me my life.

Naturally, I want to continue that life. How that looks, we don’t quite know yet. The balance between home and travel will be something we’ll need to navigate at every horizon. What comes next? A baby! A blessing, a beautiful life, I am sure. Predictable? No. Beloved? No question.

6 Comments, RSS

  1. Petrina March 20, 2014 @ 2:07 am

    You are never alone…your offspring will forever be an extension of your heart. I am your cheerleader-loving the reflection I see of our lives in each other. You are a gift to my life. Brave, thought filled, deep and open. Love your maternal posts.

    • Sophie March 22, 2014 @ 7:40 pm

      <3 huge love, thank you Petrina!

  2. Dad March 20, 2014 @ 3:04 am

    I love you so much! So beautiful!

    • Sophie March 22, 2014 @ 7:40 pm

      I love you too Dad! <3 Thank you!

  3. Dan Ouellette March 20, 2014 @ 3:18 pm

    Fascinating description of where you are… lovely.

    I felt, as my first child was approaching the dawn… that it was all too much.

    And, in a way, it was. A hurricane of emotions and fears, concerns and hopes, the unknown. I look back on it feeling as if this was a completely natural response to the amazing event about the unfold within my life. And even more than just the arrival of a new spiritual life, the arrival of an entirely new and very powerful dynamic between Bernadette and I, although I did not realize it fully at the time. When I look at her now… she is so very different from the woman I married in every way. It’s wild.

    And there was sadness too.. because I was never going to be who I was.. which I also didn’t know as it was happening… but I sensed it! I was leaving a version of me behind…and ushering in a new me, a new son and a new wife. Becoming indeed!

    Very lovely…

    Be well. I hope to see you again soon and meet your family! (And we have lot of baby clothes if you want some!)

  4. Kerry ward March 21, 2014 @ 2:10 pm

    Beautiful. Sophie thinking of you. Xxxx

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