Pregnancy

Nine Months

Today, I am nine months pregnant.

Thirty-six weeks… That leaves four weeks until our due date or x days until this child presses the “eject” button.

We have cleaned, organized, and prepared to the very best of our abilities. We have studied, practiced, and talked… and talked… and talked… But, ultimately, we wait. We are at the mercy of this tiny person.

It is remarkable that there is a human inside me. He is of us, yes, but also not us. That’s the magic part: our ability to create something greater than ourselves.

Ryan and I have come in and out of our love. Love in the long term is much like anything else: easy and hard at the same time.

Nearly all of our marriage has been spent passively or actively fighting my infertility. We learned to truly love… became best friends… softened our edges… dug deep to find the kindest, most generous parts of us… all while navigating a battlefield.

We’ve had periods of such sadness that all we could do was cling to one another, and other times, when we were more like strangers passing politely in the hall.

But, if you asked either of us, we’d say that these years have been the happiest of our lives. Each bitter moment makes every taste of sweetness that much sweeter.

He is my match, my partner, my equal in every way. As we grow closer to our precious boy, I find myself torn between melancholy that the “you and me” chapter is closing and utter bliss that another is beginning for the three of us.

Will he love me then like he loves me now? Will he love the baby more than he loves me?

I’m pretty sure I’m not the first women to have these thoughts, so I don’t beat myself up too much about selfish fears.

As he croons to my belly, and I feel my little boy move to get closer to that baritone, I know… We have weathered a thousand moments of heartbreak to make this one possible. And, each of those planted seeds that now bloom like heart-sprung joy into our lives.

Our boy is exactly that.

He is the product of all those hurts that chipped away at the lives we wanted to live and forced us to rebuild a life together, our hands, legs, and hearts so entwined that my fears couldn’t find roots to grow even if I let them.

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I’m Jasmine Myers, professional writer & marketer, joyful wife, and new mama living in Portland, Oregon.