I’m Not Like the Girls That You’ve Known

Sure, I always do lately, and most of that is third trimester madness, with a little of my weird personality and anxiety thrown in for good measure. Yet it’s hard to know where that ends and where this begins, or vice versa, but I do find myself tangled in sleep and dreams and thoughts and ridiculousness too. The other night, it wasn’t even dreadful heartburn, and it wasn’t restless legs or hip aches or something so common that I don’t experience, like getting up to go to the bathroom a half dozen times (seriously, I can’t imagine doing that even twice). I was hot, and had maybe gone to bed too prematurely, with my sinuses clogged; my thoughts and sobriety too fresh, raw, and in your face. So I took off an article of clothing, one by one, and I assure you this isn’t too X-rated. I literally mean I took off a sock, tossed and turned, took off another one.

Each article of clothing left behind, left me wide awake again, until I succumbed to a low growl of an almost snore. A vivid dream. Grabbing for Cassidy. Feeling the baby move in waves across my entire abdomen. It wasn’t heartburn, no, and it wasn’t dreadful restless legs or hip aches or an overactive bladder, that I wouldn’t experience ever, but it was pretty ridiculous. What is sleep anymore, anyway, as the baby moves in waves across my abdomen. And my emotions, thoughts, and dreams move in waves under, across, and above the sheets and the sometimes oppressive, sometimes comforting quilt. Did I ever sleep through a whole night straight through? No, really.

It’s hard lately not to think about a year ago, not necessarily today, but close to today. And it’s hard not to think about two years ago, not necessarily today, but definitely this week. Two years ago this week, we found out Rider was a boy, and that was hard for a few days, until it wasn’t. Now I’m in much love and peace at the thoughts of having a girl and three boys, or a lovely two and two. Sure I have slight reasons to nod in either of the directions, but it’s easy for me to have that indulgence because I do know what it’s like to have both. And I do know nothing is fluid or fixed, and that what these kids will grow up to be is beyond my control. I do know what it’s like to at least be pretty sure about my four healthy babies: a girl, and at least two boys. Maybe three.

A year ago, not necessarily this week, but in the whole spring and then summer transitions, I really felt like a butterfly. There was a strong awakening, which was raw and sleepy and sleepless and sobering. I remember crying in Rider’s nursery, holding his bewildered face close to mine. Thinking about all that I had missed and didn’t want to miss anymore. Not then, and not ever. That said, it’s not a straight shot into the sky, soaring. There are many falls and discomforts and heavy rains and blankets. I was heading somewhere for sure, into a growing light and warmth and possibility. This pregnancy changed that, but if it wasn’t this, what else could it have been? This brings us closer; sleeplessness on the brink of unbelievable flight paths and vivid colors too.

And it’s weird to think about the indignities and discomforts that are physical, but also become more than that, and take me away from that butterfly. It’s weird to think about not seizing every day and hug and kiss and night in bed, with him by my side. It’s hard not to take it personally when we aren’t close, even if the reasons are actually lighter, and more temporary, AND, we both know it. And it’s hard to think that the freedom to even lie in bed for a whole night, sleepless or not, is going away. And who are we? Who am I? A butterfly. A bonus regeneration; a lifetime full of regenerations. Uncomfortable doesn’t mean going back. It can mean settling dew drops on wings; resting a moment or two, before lifting back into flight. It means higher than ever before.