Third Time Around
I made it to yoga today. Unrolled my yoga mat to find it full of dog footprints and a signed marker drawing. I sit on my folded blanket and look around the room. Adjusting the scarf on my head hiding my unwashed hair. I’m here to escape the chaos of my house. The mountain of laundry that needs to be folded. The toys scattered. The tiny plastic sword that someone threw in the toilet that needs fishing out. I spent the morning surrounded by an empty house and tasks that needed my attention and my hands and achieved nothing. Just stared at my phone and pretended it wasn’t there. So I drove here. To this familiar room with a familiar teacher who I’ve taken classes from the past two pregnancies. I find myself in a familiar place and yet a place I never expected to be again.
In the chaos and the shopping and all the noise, I have this little pocket second where it’s just me and the little growing, swelling belly. I feel the bittersweet joy of the last one. I just finished my last first trimester. I wear that close to my heart like a treasure. My eyes close and I arrive in the little room, in the tiny space between doing and I wonder : what do I want? How will I do this differently? How will I appreciate the time enough as it already seems to fly through my hands, trailing like sand.
Our little girl, who will you be? Your space in our family has already begun to materialize, to glow and pulse. I can see your portrait on the wall next to your siblings. I’m just not quite able to make out the details. We listen for your name but we haven’t quite heard it yet. All straining to find the perfect sound that means you. It’s turned into quite the dinner ritual. Both kids coming up with names, Ariel? Aurora? Elsa? They want you to be named after a princess.
This pregnancy has been more shared than any other. The little hands and cheeks and ears pressed up to my navel. Bumping up against the newness of you. Anxiously inquiring to your size. What fruit are you today little sister?
My little three year old woke up next to me this morning. Sleepy head, eyes foggy and half closed. Looking confused, he sat up and looked for you. “Where’s the baby, mama? She already came out. I was just snuggling her.” I finally convinced him that it was just a dream. Just a dream. And you are. A dream that our little family is having together.
What do I want? This. To be together in anticipation. What do I want? For time to slow down. But that too is just a dream. In that case, I will go slow. I will sit here on my mat and let go of the far away house, of the deeds yet to be done. I want to be within this time, to be present for the transformation, to keep my worries shut outside the door. I want to be awake to greet you as you arrive, my little traveler.