I’m bored with relaxing and doing nothing, but that’s all I can do—that pretty much sums up my existence at this point. It’s incredible how different I feel in my body every day now, rather than the slow progression of the rest of pregnancy. The experience only grows in intensity (and discomfort) the closer I get to the end. And when will that end be?? That is what’s on my mind constantly—it’s impossible not to think about (though it’s more of a crazy curiosity than wanting to hurry it along).
Shouldn’t there be a word for this state of being, describing the time and place where mothers linger, waiting to be called forward?
Germans have a word, zwischen, which means between. I’ve co-opted that word for my own obstetrical uses. When I sense the discomfort and tension of late pregnancy in my clients, I suggest that they are now in The Time of Zwischen. The time of in between, where the opening begins. Giving it a name gives it dimension, an experience closer to wonder than endurance.
I tell these beautiful, round, swollen, weepy women to go with it and be okay there. Feel it, think it, don’t push it away. Write it down, sing really loudly when no one else is home, go commune with nature, or crawl into your own mama’s lap so she can rub your head until you feel better. I tell their men to let go of their worry; this is an early sign of labor. I encourage them to sequester themselves if they need space, to go out if they need distraction, to enjoy the last hours of this life-as-they-now-know-it. I try to give them permission to follow the instinctual gravitational pulls that are at work within them, just as real and necessary as labor.
The discomforts of late pregnancy are easy to Google: painful pelvis, squished bladder, swollen ankles, leaky nipples, weight unevenly distributed in a girth that makes scratching an itch at ankle level a feat of flexibility. “You might find yourself teary and exhausted,” says one website, “but your baby is coming soon!” Cheer up, sweetie, you’re having a baby. More messaging that what is going on is incidental and insignificant.
What we don’t have is reverence or relevance—or even a working understanding of the vulnerability and openness a woman experiences at this time. Our language and culture fails us. This surely explains why many women find this time so complicated and tricky. But whether we recognize it or not, these last days of pregnancy are a distinct biologic and psychological event, essential to the birth of a mother.
We don’t scientifically understand the complex hormones at play that loosen both her hips and her awareness. In fact, this uncomfortable time of aching is an early form of labor in which a woman begins opening her cervix and her soul. Someday, maybe we will be able to quantify this hormonal advance—the prolactin, oxytocin, cortisol, relaxin. But for now, it is still shrouded in mystery, and we know only how to measure thinning and dilation.
I believe that this is more than biological. It is spiritual. To give birth, whether at home in a birth tub with candles and family or in a surgical suite with machines and a neonatal team, a woman must go to the place between this world and the next, to that thin membrane between here and there. To the place where life comes from, to the mystery, in order to reach over to bring forth the child that is hers. The heroic tales of Odysseus are with us, each ordinary day. This round woman is not going into battle, but she is going to the edge of her being where every resource she has will be called on to assist in this journey.
We need time and space to prepare for that journey. And somewhere, deep inside us, at a primal level, our cells and hormones and mind and soul know this, and begin the work with or without our awareness.
I call out Zwischen in prenatals as a way of offering comfort and, also, as a way of offering protection. I see how simple it is to exploit and abuse this time. A scheduled induction is seductive, promising a sense of control. Fearful and confused family can trigger a crisis of confidence. We are not a culture that waits for anything, nor are we believers in normal birth; waiting for a baby can feel like insanity. Giving this a name points her toward listening and developing her own intuition. That, in turn, is a powerful training ground for motherhood.
Today, I am waiting for a lovely new mother named Allison to call me, to announce that her Zwischen is ended and labor has begun. I am in my own in between place, waiting. My opportunity to grow and open is a lovely gift she gives me, in choosing me to attend her birth.
My level of exhaustion right now is unreal, and it’s not at all helped by the raging end ‘o pregnancy insomnia I’m experiencing. I thought I knew insomnia before, but this is far worse than anything I’ve ever known. The other night I got up at 1:00 a.m. (to pee, of course) and was awake until 7:30 a.m. Are you f@#%ing kidding me?!!! I keep hearing that it’s nature’s way of preparing me for the sleepless nights that are literally just days away from beginning. And the number of times I pee in a day? Also ridiculous. There’s nothing more baby girl enjoys playing with than my bladder, especially if there’s some liquid in it…..yay, it’s squishy, fun! I will pee and not 5 minutes later she will turn her head side to side (getting cozy on her pillow?) and I’m running for the bathroom again. The other fun thing she likes to play with is my hip bone—so weird. She pushes on the edge of her womb until she finds it and then pokes it, over and over. I feel her little fingers sort of pawing it like a cat….creepiest feeling. Lastly, baby girl has not gotten the memo that her movements are supposed to be more lax in these final days, given her cramped quarters. I’ve got to try to videotape her crazy fits, but it’s hard to predict. It literally looks like she’s trying to break my belly open so she can free herself, and given the fact that she’s a full-sized baby now, it’s quite the show.
I’ve gotten so used to the thought “when is this going to be over?” always lurking in the back of my head these past 37+ weeks, that this new wave of emotion I’m experiencing has taken me by surprise. I mentioned the other day that I was feeling nostalgic about pregnancy, but it’s much more than that. I have gradually slipped into a state of mourning over the end of pregnancy, and I now find myself genuinely sad at the thought of no longer being pregnant. Never did I think I’d ever utter those words given how challenging and uncomfortable pregnancy has been, but those words are the truth. And wouldn’t you know, every book and every woman I mention it to says this is an incredibly common phenomenon.
For the first half of pregnancy, all I could think about was wanting to rush through the experience, because I was so sick and miserable. As grateful as I was to be pregnant, and as amazed as I was by what was happening inside my body, it was definitely a challenge to look past the sickness at that point. Then came the second half of pregnancy, during which I developed such a strong bond with my baby girl that I have been beside myself impatient to meet her. But now….now I have entered this interesting/surprising phase. I am so close to finally holding my baby that I can almost feel her here already and it’s complete bliss, but at the same time I’ve begun to realize that meeting her means no longer being the pregnant lady. Yes, I have many complaints at week 37, and yes, it’s uncomfortable and exhausting, but I love being pregnant (though it’s taken me a long while to feel that way). I’ve always been fascinated and mesmerized by pregnant women and now I am one.
Of course, a large part of mourning the end is mourning the intimacy I now share with my child. A mother has the incredible honor of sharing herself with her baby, being completely intertwined and connected. A mother is the first person to know and bond with this new human being, the first person that child will recognize when she enters the world. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, like that experience. And as many times as I’ve told my husband throughout my pregnancy that I wish he could “hold” the baby for awhile so I could take a break, I now realize that I will have to share her with the world and she’ll no longer be right by my side (or rather insides) all day and night. Giving birth to her means the beginning of letting her go. Of course, she will spend the majority of her first hours and days (and probably years) attached to my body in some form, but never in this same way.
But, this mourning goes deeper than losing the intimacy of pregnancy. I’m slightly embarrassed to admit this, but since I’ve been pregnant I’ve never felt so special. Pregnant women are just special. Everyone wants to know how you are doing, everyone wants to talk to you about what you’re going through, people smile at you like you are a magical being (and you are because, hello, you are creating life!), your husband is in awe of you and waits on you like you are royalty, and incredible new bonds are formed with those around you. It’s not so much the attention that I love though, it’s what’s behind the attention—the miracle of life. People are drawn to a pregnant belly (and to you), because it’s truly magical. It’s incredible that two people can share a steamy encounter and end up with a whole new human being in their lives. It’s even more incredible that the female body is capable of making that happen. I think that is where the love lies for me.
Being pregnant has allowed me to find a kind of respect, appreciation and love for my body and my womanhood that I never thought was possible. Being pregnant has allowed me to stop looking at my body in superficial terms, to stop the constant chatter of self-criticism in my head….and to stop feeling so insignificant and powerless. That last bit takes a lot for me to admit, but the experience of pregnancy is that profound, that intense in terms of spiritual growth (at least it has been for me). I’ve struggled with a lack of feeling ownership over my own body for most of my life, which has deeply affected every aspect of who I am. But now, I not only have a sense of ownership, but I have a sense of pride. I have claimed my womanhood, I have claimed my body in all its glory. I am strong and I have created a strong, healthy life within me. I can look in the mirror for the first time in my life and not pick apart my reflection, but instead smile at every curve, giggle at the roundness of my belly, ignore the billion changes to my body, because this is my body’s destiny: to grow life, to birth life, to be a mother. And it’s nothing short of beautiful.
I am sure I will struggle with my reflection in the wake of giving birth and having to accept my postpartum figure, but maybe if I can remember this feeling I have now, it will make that experience a little less difficult. It’s just so freeing to finally understand what true beauty is….to not feel myself totally wrapped up in our country’s warped view of what a woman should be: thin, young, large-breasted, scantily clad….perfect. It’s freeing to see my body for what it truly is rather than a vessel for men (and women, for that matter) to scrutinize. It’s freeing, even if this feeling/understanding is temporary.
And so, I mourn the end of pregnancy. But, I know the profound spiritual shift will continue and that’s something to look forward to. All these realizations only further explain why it is that I feel that my life is just about to begin, as those other 30 years fade into the horizon. Becoming a mother has allowed me to become the woman I always wanted to become.
Today I am full-term! Yay! It’s incredible how preoccupied my brain is with thoughts of labor at this point. Many women begin labor several weeks or over a month before giving birth—it’s just a slow, gradual process. Well, I am definitely one of those women. I notice every little shift in my body and it’s definitely gearing up for the big show, which is exciting as heck, but also a bit nerve-wracking.
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| This tank top speaks the truth. At the moment I have 2 shirts that actually fit and cover my belly (clearly, this isn’t one of them). |
“Is it over yet? Was that the baby that just fell out of me? No, it’s not lady-like, but I can’t close my legs. I think it would be genius to install a stair lift on our staircase.” Yes, I’ve entered the long, uncomfortable phase of pregnancy: the end. The end is everything other women warn you it is—exhausting, achy, swollen, full of impatience, hormonal. But, at the same time, it’s pretty exciting. And that excitement is contagious. Suddenly everyone that walks past you seems to be staring and smiling at your enormous belly, strangers ask you how much longer you have to wait, the people around you seem to bubble with joy at the thought of meeting your child. Everyone wants to talk baby. It’s a magical time (if you can get past the bowling ball pushing on your vagina).
I had my first false alarm last week. It was after a long, stressful day (at a funeral) and I had been worried the whole time that the intensity of the day would kickstart labor. Everyone kept mentioning the possibility too, which didn’t help my anxiety. Then there was the moment when one of my zany relatives threw a glass of water on the floor in between my legs and shouted “Oh my god, did your water just break?” Hilarious. But, by the time my 14-hour day was coming to an end, and I was literally discussing labor with some female relatives, it happened: my first moment of “Oh sh*t! Is this happening?” I’ve been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for the entire second half of my pregnancy. That whole “first time mothers might not feel them” thing did not apply to me. I have them constantly, all day, non-stop. I’m told this is a good thing, my uterus is mighty prepared and toned now. But, on this night it was a painful contraction. My legs went weak, my body temperature soared so high I was pulling off layers, I was panicked.
It turned out to be a great time to experience my first false alarm, though. I had wonderful women around me, women who had read and followed the advice of the amazing Ina May book I’m always recommending. They coached me through it, made me breathe. False alarms are a good thing. They prepare you. That’s what I realized. I’d hate to have that moment of panic be the real thing. Now, I feel better prepared to ease into it when the time comes.
Aside from my obsession with labor, the fascinating part of pregnancy right now is that the jabs and movements in my belly are more recognizable as body parts. I’ve got a tactile little creature inside me whose tiny fingers are always poking, petting, and grabbing at the world around them. Alex loves that he can “hold her hand” and spends at least an hour a day poking her hand and feeling her poke his back. It’s amazing how responsive baby girl is to voices and touch. You can honestly play with her already. And as is the case with most babies/children, she’s easily riled up by her daddy and more playful when she hears his voice.
On the nursery front, I’ve finally begun making some art for baby girl’s room, so I’ll be sure to share that later this week. It feels good to be painting again! It’s a great way to make the time pass a little faster.
