On the first weekend of April, for my 41st birthday and to get away for a few pre-baby days, we stayed in Edgartown at a cozy inn; just what we needed for a little break in the action. We’ve both been working overtime to save money and haven’t had a lot of down time or time together for that matter, in months. Sleeping on a soft king sized bed was heavenly, and the breakfast they served, locally sourced. Many stores and restaurants are still closed in early April but we managed to eat well, visit dear friends, buy thick mango lassis from a local farm and walk on the beach.
One year ago, on the day I turned 40, I was worrying about the possibility of not being able to conceive at my age. We were staying at a friend’s house in Vermont having heart to heart conversations about our future, making big decisions amidst my tears. In one year, tectonic plates have shifted and the earth has rearranged. I face the concepts of faith and doubt every day and most of the time, I choose faith. I keep remembering that there is always something to be afraid of: first it was that I wouldn’t get pregnant, then that I’d miscarry, then that any number of things could be wrong with my baby, now that I’ll have preterm labor, soon something else. We perpetually live in unknown and uncertainty, but at certain junctions in life, this is more evident than others. At times, I feel like a tragic example of an instructor of yoga and mindfulness, as worry is far from presence. I keep aspiring to be grateful and present and awake- it’s all we can ever do. My coach wrote to me last week, “…worry is part of our need to control outcomes. We cannot. We can only make choices, one at a time and hope the choices we make, trust the choices we make, will support us down the road.”
It’s been a year of dramatic change and roiling challenge, but we’re still here with intact relationships and businesses and bodies and we are grateful.
We’ve been shown a lot of love this year: family rallying to support us emotionally and financially, friends offering favors, friends offering food and help when we were sick and offering to throw me a magnificent shower, baby gifts from our registry already trickling in. When I spin out, I try to focus on the support we have all around us. I hum made-up lullabies to my baby and hold him in my belly and feel him hiccup and am so excited to soon see his little face and hold him to my chest.