last night I sat in bed and cried.
I cried because I’m super hormonal, and I’m sick, and I’m tired of being sick, and I’m scared of a thousand different things.
I cried because emotions are confusing.
I cried because I was little bitter about the fact that my husband works 12-hour days twice a week.
I cried because my brain has been so foggy that I feel like I haven’t actually spent time with him in ages.
I cried because I was being kicked from the inside out, and I want to have this baby, and also I don’t want to have this baby.
I cried because I know myself really well, and I knew there was something off.
I cried because I was sad, and sometimes you just have to be sad for a minute.
I cried because tears heal.
I’m really, really excited for Io to join our family.
I’m also really, really sad.
no one ever told me how sad it would be, and how terrifying it would feel, to go from two to three. J is my best friend in the whole world- the only person who understands me inside out and keeps me floating when I feel like I’m losing my mind. he’s the only person who can make me laugh hysterically when I’m sick as a dog, and melt my heart into a puddle of inexplicable awe and thankfulness by looking at me. and to think that this beautiful, amazing, incredible time we’ve had just the two of us is coming to an end feels hopelessly sad sometimes.
everything has become a monument to us in the past couple of months. we’ve taken my camera with us everywhere. we’ve forked over a little more cash for dates. we’ve spent more time just talking, just cuddling, just being. we’ve stayed up later some nights, or gone to bed earlier so we could talk in the dark for longer. we’ve lavished each other with goodness and romance and each-other-ness.
this time feels sacred in the hardest way, and too fast. I feel like I’m grasping to hold tight to moments, to keep them safe in my mind before they leave. I want all of them to stay with me, and I don’t want to forget anything.
I don’t want to forget how precious and perfect our time together has been, quietly learning the roadmap to each other’s hearts, running blind on the topography of what it means for two to become one, and charting it as new territory, staking our claims for one another. I know this traversing and exploring won’t end, but it will be different, and different is just really scary sometimes.
there is no preparation for what this will be like. there’s nothing that can ease you into the waters of this kind of change gradually. and there’s no going back once you’ve taken the plunge.
we’re just really damn good together, and because of that I know we will be good for her, for Io. because we’re good together, I know we’ll keep being good together and for each other and with one another. because we’re just so good together I know all of this will be good.
but until it proves to be so, I’ll let myself mourn the goodbye to these moments. I’ll sit in the wonderfulness that is right now, and just soak up my husband in all his sweetness and depth and steady strength. I’ll breathe him in, and keep laughing even though I’m sick, and keep memorizing the good that he is, and keep putting us first.
I’m okay with the fact that I’m sad about this chapter closing. I’m okay with mourning this. I’m okay with new birth meaning some things have to die. and I’m okay with seeing who we become, how we love each other more fiercely with more fire, how we love each other more steadily with more depth.
I’m sad, and I’m scared, and I’m excited, and I’m okay.