I took this photo 16 weeks into my third pregnancy, during a moment of quiet reflection, as a reminder to myself of how much was going on within me and every other blooming, growing, glowing mother. So much that needs to be respected and honoured by both her and those around her.
You can dumb it down with an “oh those preggy hormones”, but those beautiful hormones happen for a reason and bring a sensitivity to oneself and strong awareness of the energy of others that is a powerful thing if you listen to it. I truly believe your body kicks into a mode of wanting you to think more with your gut, soul and heart than your head.
Your body knows who it wants near it and who it wants to run a mile from. It’s primal preservation mode and motherly intuition that we seem to have lost touch with or brush aside so often as we let other voices take over and bring in doubt.
So there we were, alone on the beach. I’m not sure if it was me or our baby who so desperately wanted some “just us” time, but we needed it.
And it was overwhelming. A quiet realization that this was not my body it was ours.
As Robyn Sheldon author of The Mama Bamba Way so perfectly puts it...
“Pregnancy is a time of spiritual connection. If we choose to do so, we can generally experience our spiritual reality more profoundly and easily than at any other times of our lives; perhaps because our babies have an expanded sense of awareness and we are physiologically, psychologically, and psychically interdependent.”
Back to my meditation on the beach, I felt the deep (and at times scary) overwhelm of responsibility we carry as moms, knowing that this little being relies on you alone and you being healthy for nine months. Nine very short months that, at times, can feel like years as you wait… for that first sign of a bump, that first overflowing moment when you see the heartbeat on a scan, that first kick, that head-down somersault, that first surge of birth beginning.
I wanted to remember this moment of knowing that this was potentially the last time I would have a little 16-week bump, the last time I would be pregnant, the last time I would feel my belly stretching with new life, the last time I would feel my heart stretching with mad love for someone I hadn't met yet, the last time I (and my enthralled husband) would wonder at breasts that are nothing less than miraculous, the last time I would marvel as my body widened weekly to welcome this little person into our lives.
This person who already had his own personality and, judging from the kicks and nudges which were wildly different from previous pregnancies, already had his own way in which he would approach this world.
Nine months of listening to voices no one else could hear was the least I could do.