34 Wks, 6 Days: Bittersweet

5 More Days, if today counts.

Hip pain is extreme right now. I almost soaked my bed in urine a minute ago because I was stuck there, unable to move, and J had to literally come and move my left leg for me so I could get up and go to the bathroom. And I don't know what my uterus is doing. I refuse to monitor because I want to spend these last few days home with my family. I do know that the contractions are spaced further--about 4 minutes apart--and seem to be stronger. Instead of focusing on the misery of it all, I am consciously choosing to focus on the fact that this is truly the last time I will feel this.

This time next week, Zachary will be in my arms. It seems unreal to me. And I would like to say that the pain will be gone. But motherhood can be painful too. There will be times where he hurts and I cannot fix it. And when that happens, it literally tears your heart out of your chest. The world can be a very cruel place, and regardless of how beautiful or smart or amazing your child is, no one will ever love them like you do. This week will serve as the last few days that I truly can protect little Zachary from all of that. For the next 5 days, I can still keep him safe in his little bubble. After that, I can only do my best.

Today is Mother's Day. The day on the calendar that I struggle with the most. It still is hard. I miss my mother every day. And I know that if she would have survived to meet him, E would have been the light of her life. The Baby's baby. Zachary too, for that matter. This year is a little different for me, as I instead focus on the blessings that have fallen upon me in place of the void that has been there since she passed away. By this time next week, I will have given birth to 2 amazing little boys. After all, E never ceases to amaze me, and I know Zachary will be no different. I look at E and cannot believe that I carried this little person under my heart for all of that time.

E is turning into a Big Boy before my eyes. I don't remember the exact moment he started to get self-conscious and close the bathroom door when he bathed. Or the exact moment he got too big to be rocked to sleep. Or when he stopped asking me to kiss his boo-boos. I just know that I still live for the moments where he comes and puts his little head on my shoulder as he hugs me, when he isn't worried about looking "cool" in front of his friends. In those moments, he is still my baby and I can practically feel how he kicked in the womb. I can still smell his buttermilk newborn breath and feel the exhaustion that was colic. I have always felt guilty that I didn't keep tangible mementos of his growing up, and I have vowed that I will for Zachary. But what I never realized is that I don't need objects to remind me. Every stage and moment is locked into my mind as if to freeze him in place for me.

I love these children so much it hurts. Zachary too, which is so bizarre to me. I never dreamed I could ever love anyone like I do E. And now? To feel that degree of love for someone I have yet to meet? I cannot put into words the degree of strangeness for me. So this Mother's Day, as contractions rip through me still, and I miss my mother in a way that is almost palpable, I have that to ease the pain.