I want you to know that you’re my person. You’re my person, and I’m going to tell you why.
I know you’re tired, uncomfortable, exceedingly grateful and emotional, cranky, anxious, nervous, excited . . .I know. You’re ready . . .I know.
I want you to know that motherhood is a winding road that stretches you in every new turn, but magic and beauty sprout up all along the way.
I want to tell you to hire someone (or beg a friend) to take some pictures of you with your baby still on the inside, because you can never go back there. That’s a sacred closeness that deserves to be documented and treasured.
I want you to know that when you’re giving birth you might think you’ll be the one woman who actually can’t do it. But you will. You’ll do it, and you’ll be so proud of climbing that mountain.
Always remember that you are capable.
When your baby is born, you will be too. Your old self will still be there, but now she has a completely new counterpart with new abilities, new eyes, and a new heart beat. She’s strong and resilient and resourceful, with an arsenal of superpowers to employ. (You’ll see.)
I want you to know that the dizzying buzz of visitors and meals and text messages will grow quieter and quieter until there’s a still silence of just your breath next to your baby’s. Don’t be afraid of that moment; that’s when you’ll find your motherhood. When it’s just the two of you.
When the nights crawl along so slowly that you’re convinced the sun has retired, never to return again, remind yourself of what you know to be true: You are a good mom. And this won’t last forever. It feels like it will, but it won’t. The sun will rise; so will you, and you know what? There’s no shame in loading that baby up the next morning for a Starbucks run. No shame, little mama.
Can we camp there for a second? There is no room for any kind of shame in this motherhood gig, okay? You get the beautiful freedom to decide what’s best, confidently. Tiny decisions and big scary ones—YOU get to decide. You actually do know what’s best.
When you feel the loneliest you’ve ever been despite your constant miniature companion, be the one to pick up the phone. Don’t scroll through pictures of other people living their lives—instead, scroll through your contact list. Send out a few texts, or make a phone call. Reach out. Cultivate your village, hunt it down if you have to, because it may not come knocking. Then when you find it, hold it closely and gently it with eyes open for new mamas to welcome in. We need each other, desperately.
This is why you’re my person—because I see myself in you. I was you, and I still am you.
So, mama-to-be, when you glance down at that round belly of yours, stretched beyond belief, just breathe in this sweet promise* about the pain you’ve been feeling: it can’t compare to the joy that’s coming.
I just wanted you to know.
*Referenced from Romans 8:18
I’m Shanna, a wife, writer/blogger/encourager, Registered Sonographer, and mom to a spirited two-year-old named Aven. Cheering on fellow moms is my favorite, followed closely by McDonald’s sweet tea with lemon. I’m all about helping moms find Glory in their everyday motherhood. Find me at Beloved Nest and on Facebook and Instagram.
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