Every bump and kick hits my heart. Losing cousin Kohen earlier this month amped up EVERYTHING for mama, especially when it comes to you, baby. Do you realize how lucky we are? It’s impossible to make that statement without the little voice in the back of my head going “well, but you’re not necessarily going to continue to be lucky….” But we’ve decided it’s not worth going there. Because the truth is, right now, we’re so lucky. Its me and you, and we’re squashed into this shared space that is my body, and more than that, we’re sharing my heart. It pumps blood through me and then passes the good stuff to you, before returning back to mine to do it all again. It can’t help it, baby – you’re just too special to be away from for long.
The day is coming though, that you’re going to have to set out on your own. It will be the best and worst day. As soon as it dawns on me that today is the day, I think my heart will split in half.
One half will be ECSTATIC. This is what we’ve worked towards! As wonderful as sharing the very same source of life has been, I know how much more wonderful it will be to have you, out here, sharing actual life. The hours, days, months, will no longer feel the same to us, but instead be experienced by each of us individually. I’ll watch you operating on your own and nothing will make my heart fuller.
The other half will be terrified. The reality that we now know is that your heart might not want to leave mine. It might not be able to figure out this whole living thing on its own. We also know that nothing can change the beauty that is the life you’ve already lived. We now know that there is no weighing or valuing of days and hours, because the balances will never even out. The pain and the beauty are inexplicably and inescapably tied.
When you bump and kick, so does my heart. First it smiles. My hand goes to the last place you touched, the remnant of pain that lingers there, and every part of me is warm with joy. As the feeling fades, so does the warmth, and I remember Kohen. At the same time as I cherish your vibrant reminders of life I mourn in the reminder of not-life. It’s a complicated feeling, baby. I am not used to feeling so split. Perhaps it is good that we are operating with two hearts—when mama’s falters, yours keeps us going.