After having three babies, it feels like my body has a birth pattern. I get pregnant, I go the full 40 weeks, I have the baby, I wait a certain amount of time, then I get pregnant again, and so the cycle continues.
For example: Got pregnant in the spring of 2013, had a baby in the winter of 2014. Skipped spring, summer, fall, winter. Then I got pregnant in the spring of 2015, had a baby in the winter of 2016. Skipped spring, summer, and fall. Then I got pregnant in the winter of 2017, had a baby in the fall of 2017. Skipped winter, spring, summer, fall, winter… And here we are in present day. Winter of 2019.
I am not pregnant. I don’t have a newborn. No plans for another one anytime soon. I may be done having children, I may not be. I’m not totally sure to be honest.
It’s strange to be here. In part of my cycle where I “should” be pregnant. My middle kiddo’s birthday is this week, my oldest kiddo’s birthday is next month. This is birth day time—reminding me of labor and meeting my child for the first time and that special, intense, love-filled little hospital bubble.
It’s tempting, I’ll tell you. But then I remind myself: THIS is exactly where I’m supposed to be right now. I feel the deep desire to reconnect with who the heck I am underneath all my motherhood skin. What do I even like to do aside from spend time with my children? What do I enjoy writing about aside from my parenting journey? How can I take better care of myself—mind, body, and soul? How can I get myself to the top of my priority list?
For right now, it’s being right here. It’s walking the path I’m on. It’s appreciating what I have and understanding what will be, will be.
Life doesn’t have to happen TO me. I can be an active participant: I can learn and question and grow and challenge myself. And so… I will.
I’m going to learn about myself this year. I’m sure it’ll be an adventure figuring it all out. ✌️