What does it feel like to wait?

It feels like you’re supposed to keep doing normal life things while everyone is watching and waiting for this wild thing to happen.

It feels like every small tiny sensation is something big.

But wait, isn’t this big? Isn’t this huge? Isn’t this potentially 8 pounds 12 ounces of bigness sitting deep within you?

Breathe into it. Sink into it. Be a part of it. Dive in. I want to, and I’m trying to. It feels like it’s a constant surrender to the opposite of what life can normally look like. Because you aren’t really a part of it anymore are you? Every day is a release of emotions as you watch the snow fall for the umpteenth time (thanks Minnesota). It’s a toddler rising and falling in front of you. It’s people reaching out to see how you’re doing. It’s a quiet look from someone or a loud kid asking why you have a basketball shoved up your shirt (for real). The best is a look from your partner who’s right there beside you when you finally let your feelings out. It’s solidarity in this in between space that only exists for an incredibly short period of time.

This time around I’ve been trying to allow what will unfold, unfold all on its own. Listening as best I can to my own body’s cues. To what she’s saying. To what my muscles and heart are saying. It’s misleading at times and my intuition has tricked me more than once but I know I’ll know when it’s the real thing. For now I’ll embrace being lost in the light waiting for her to come out of the dark.

We can’t wait to meet you on the other side baby girl.

Laura Rowe Photography