What you make of it.


It’s almost always the same.

I say that I’m planning on having an unassisted (no doctors) birth at home, and the eyebrows shoot up, the jaw drops, and the exclamation, “you’re WHAT?” inevitably escapes the lips.

It made me smile the other day to receive the following from a long-time friend:
“It’s wonderful to hear somebody so devoted and so excited about their blessing- rather than moan all day about swollen ankles and not being able to drink. [Eliza’s] going to love reading everything you’ve written…”

This is a love story!
… perhaps not a conventional one where boy meets girl and they waltz off into the sunset … but a love story nevertheless.

The events that brought us to Eliza’s conception (both good and bad!) have given us such a unifying bond.
Frank commented the other day that he’s never seen me so happy for so long, as I have been while pregnant.

It’s not that I’ve got what I wanted … or that now we have a child, I can let myself go … it’s the awe – the amazement at the magic of conception, pregnancy, and eventual birth.

If I try to describe the experience to others in any way different to the norm (in essence, describing it as a spiritual, sacred, empowering occurrence), I get funny looks.

But why should I wait until Eliza is in my arms to be able to burst with joy?
Every day is what you make of it.

Heaven forbid that I should try to make it anything but the best I possibly can.