I need to meet you.
I need to meet you so you can tell me your father and I are doing the right thing. We need to look at your face so we'll know. We need to hold you.
Because right now, I'm scared and he's tired. He's tired of his injury. He's tired of not feeling good. He's tired of the not being rewarded for doing everything right. He's tired of the "always something." He's tired of being bored. He's just tired. Right now, my dear, he's just tired.
It's hard to watch. When I have the energy and the mental motivation available to provide him, I can help. If only a little. I can start the gas logs. I can put a blanket around his neck that's stiff from the cold air. I can make him something warm to drink. I can commiserate with him, even though I'm as warm as I was in mid-June. But sometimes being eight months pregnant makes helping him difficult.
We've gotten better at talking. Maybe due to therapy? Yes, we both had therapy after the accident, Daughter. It helped. We talked through the decision to have you, the challenges to get you and the joy we felt when we found out you were YOU.
When your father talks to me about how hard a time he's having, it breaks my heart. He's not one to complain much. So when he does chose to disclose feelings, it's hard. I want to make it all better for him. It's not fair what happened to him, you know. But things not being fair... that's life, daughter. It sucks sometimes. Life isn't always great. We're here to tell you.
When we get so beyond down and out, we tend to think we've gotten in over our heads with the decision to have a baby. Sometimes life is fine with the injury. But sometimes it feels insurmountable. And that's when I feel like I really need to see you. I need you to reassure us that it's all gonna be okay. I need you to let us feel that you'll provide something I can't possibly try to imagine.
I'm currently 36 weeks pregnant and things are getting harder for me. I did a lot today. I slept well last night so I had plenty of happy energy. But by 7pm, I didn't want to do anything more. But... because life isn't fair sometimes... I had to. I had to put away the food on the stove, set the coffee pot, put clean sheets on my bed and get your father situated in his room. I sat quietly on the couch and cried, feeling sorry for myself that I couldn't ask your father to do these things for me. I miss having his help sometimes. Especially now. I know I'll miss it a lot when you get here. But remember what I was telling you about life not always being fair?
My tears quickly dried and I walked your dad in his room to get ready for bed. That's when he confessed to me that he was having a hard time. Just not feeling good and tired of it. I started crying again (shocking) and he thought he made me upset.
He said, "I thought you wanted me to tell you when something was bothering me."
I was relieved.
I told him I was so happy he confided in me and was not upset at all. I explained that I was crying because I was having weird, emotional, overwhelming feelings, too. It looks like we're both having a tough time.
But in that moment, man, I was so glad to have your father right there. Right then. Only we get it. Only we get the gruesomeness and wonderfulness that we share in this life together. It can suck. And what we have to do to pull ourselves out of the injury funk sometimes, only we get it.
We want you to get it. We'll let you in on it. And we want you to be what pulls us out of our injury funk. No pressure, Daughter.
So, I need to meet you.
By all means, finish up what you're doing in there. It's important that you do. But we'll be patiently (or not) awaiting your presence.
Maybe we've been broken a little by all this. We've slowly tried to repair ourselves the best way we know how. Maybe welcoming you, Daughter, will catapult us in our quest to patch ourselves up a little more.
As hard as this life can be, we know you'll help us feel the fullness again.