I was pregnant once

I was pregnant once.

My sister and I gave birth just 3 days apart...our sons are now inseparable.

I was 5 months pregnant here.

And this was 8 months.


And ready to pop.

I came across these pictures this week and it was very interesting. The first thing I felt when I saw them was incredible and intense sorrow. I started crying and I pretty much cried on and off for most of the day. It seemed to come out of nowhere but was really a deep sadness finally coming up that has been there for 6 years. I was mourning.

I mourned for that pregnant girl who had no idea it would be her last pregnancy.

I mourned for that pregnant girl who didn't know that giving birth would change her body and affect her health for the rest of her life.

That girl who had no idea how precious those 9 months were.

I cried because I wish I could have been pregnant again. I want the same kids I have now...I just wish I could have had them in my body and given birth to them.

I cried over every comment I've ever heard about how lucky I was not to get stretch marks, or get fat, or be tired, or be sick.

I cried because what actually did happen to my body was much worse.

I cried because my husband will never have another child that looks like him.

I cried because I am so grateful to have adopted but I also feel so incredibly sad that I did not give birth again. How can those two very different feelings co-exist inside me?

I cried because I loved being pregnant but I didn't realize that until it was over.

I cried because I didn't even know to be thankful for it. I didn't even appreciate what a miracle it is.

I took for granted that getting pregnant and being pregnant is a very special gift and not necessarily a right.

I cried and I mourned and I grieved.

I was still thinking about it on Saturday and I found myself in the pre-natal yoga class at my studio. I practiced yoga next to four very pregnant women. I watched them move, I saw them touch their bellies between poses, I listened to them breathe...I felt my own body moving and stretching and breathing along side them...and suddenly during a series of challenging, sweaty, lunging poses a very strong feeling washed over me.

Love

"We are on the same team," I thought. These, my fellow women. My sisters joined in the same cause. My sisters who are mothers. We are the givers, the nurturers, the soft hands on a babies cheek, the singers, the lovers, wrestling arms through sleeves, and feet into shoes, cooking dinner with a baby on our hip and a toddler 'round our legs. We are the smilers, the watchers, the climbers of stairs during the night to sooth a cry, kneeling by the bed in desperate prayer. We are the lifters, the holders, the huggers, the wipers, the kissers, the rockers, the teachers, the hands to hold, the hair to play with, the breast to find safety against.

We are the mothers.

We are the mothers.

I felt the tight spot of jealousy in my chest at last give way for love and acceptance. Love for those pregnant woman at yoga, for you my sisters and friends, we are women united in motherhood.

And in that moment there was also a deep reverance for my body. A gratitude for the beauty and strength and softness of my body.

I realized that pregnancy is only a tiny portion of a lifetime spent using my body to nurture, love, protect, and mother my children.

I was pregnant once.

But I am a mother from my soul to my skin of four beautiful children.