Eight Weeks into Parenthood: A Reflection
My wedding day was amazing, so joyful. Probably the best day of my life.
And eight weeks ago, I had another best day. It was amazing and joyful like my wedding, but also very different. It was joy…plus a very deep sense of accomplishment. The moment they put her on my chest, it was relief, pride, exhaustion, pure delight. I did it. My girl and I, we did it.
Pregnancy is a months-long marathon.
Birth is an hours-long, high-intensity marathon.
Recovery is a months-long marathon.
All require more grit and perseverance than I ever imagined.
Pregnancy is so common and yet so unique to each person.
Our culture often equates pregnancy and menstruation as weakness or limitation. After experiencing giving birth, I am certain it is sheer strength.
It takes deep strength to undergo such a huge, tectonic shift of body, heart and mind — a shift often unrecognized and minimized.
From the most personal of bodily changes to the most public of interactions, it is so much change. And we females persevere through it all.
I used to wonder why some women are so quick to share their birth stories when the subject arises. Now I might understand. It’s the snapshot-culmination of months of perseverance, grit, bodily work and all-consuming thought.
I imagined pregnancy would feel deeply spiritual, as I connected differently with God and then with the baby. It wasn’t. It was deeply physical. Hard sleepless nights. Acid reflux. Outgrowing shoes. Iron supplements. More. It was true grit.
If it was spiritual, it was only in better understanding Emmanuel — God with us. God with us in our skin-and-bones, stretchy, ever-changing bodies.
I was honestly terrified of pregnancy and labor. Always delaying it until our surprise baby prevented me from delaying it any more.
Now — I can say I did it.
My experiences are evident in body and soul.
I faced my fears. I’ve met my girl. And I couldn’t be more proud.
