Circle of Life

I vividly remember before George and I got married, making an effort to be conscious about my last few days and nights living alone, and appreciating the positives of living alone.

I decorated however I wanted.

I got a pedicure whenever I felt like it.

I founded a women's group and poured a lot of my time and energy into it.

I am sure I did this as a protective mechanism, because there is a morbid part of me that thinks all too often about death, and I was already protecting myself against the desperate and lonely feelings I assume take over when one's spouse passes on.

I was telling myself, "Realize that right now, you are alone, and you are happy," or "There is something nice about coming home to an empty house," or, "Look at what you're capable of doing when you give yourself this time." I suppose I was just trying to remind myself before taking the next step, that the current phase wasn't so bad, and if life threw me back to this phase, I could be okay. I was (really, still am) scared of becoming more dependent on George, and then if something (God forbid) happened to him, not being able to remember how to live life alone.

I realize how awful this sounds, but it's honest.

Tonight, driving home from a prenatal yoga class, I went through the same thought process, only with our baby. I thought about people I know who have died young, and the loss their parents must have felt. I can't even really fathom that kind of pain.

I was flashing on memories that George and I have shared, just the two of us, over the past eight years. We've been really happy. We've had a lot of fun. We've gone on adventures.

I then realized, even if our daughter outlives us by decades (my hope and prayer), she will at one point, move on from our home (Is it crazy that I'm only 28 weeks pregnant and thinking about when she moves out??). I thought about the 18 years (give or take) that we will have with her under our roof, and how ideally, that won't even be a quarter of my life.

She really won't be "ours." She is coming from some spiritual realm, probably to teach us a lot of lessons, and probably to learn a lot for herself. We are just the vessels from one dimension to the next. We are just her lucky parents, lucky in that we have the opportunity to teach her what we know, and relive childhood joys all over again by her side. We're fortunate that we will get to learn from her.

I thought about my parents, and how bittersweet it was leaving for college. I remember thinking things wouldn't be the same, and that part was sad to me. But I knew a bright future was ahead. I felt the same way when I got married. They knew this, too, and I know they were proud of me, and excited for me.

But even now, I realize, on a regular day, it is just the two of them again. To think that between 1987 and 2008, their home was filled with the lives of their children...and now, it is back to pre-1987.

My sister is at grad school six hours away, and even though I'm 15 minutes down the road, I'm usually at work all day, and most evenings I have obligations. My head falls on my pillow at night beside my husband's. I'm grateful to sleep beside him. It's crazy to think a year ago, I slept alone. And eight years ago, I slept under my parents' roof every night. Crazier to think that in just a couple of months, we will welcome to the world our daughter, and she will lay her head to sleep each night under our roof.

I guess really, things don't go back to "pre-1987" or "pre-babies." Because SO MUCH will change. Careers, homes, roles, dynamics. But the foundation has to be solid enough to stand once the kids are gone. Though this baby came to us QUICKLY after the marriage, I'm so grateful for our long dating history.

This pic cracks us both up. We look so lame. This was 2007.

Everybody is telling me how I will be so surprised at how much I fall in love with her when I see her. I'm interested to see if this is true...because I feel like I've already fallen so hard. She moves all the time.  I talk to her, sometimes aloud, and sometimes just thoughts. I visualize warm light surrounding her when I consciously inhale. I sing to her, and I pray for her. I feel like I already know her. I've had three dreams about her (I thought she was a girl before the sonogram confirmed it, because I DREAMT about holding her right after birth).

I guess to get back to my original morbid point, I'm scared of how much I love people. Because when they leave this dimension, I don't know if I'll be able to cope without them. While my "norm" has changed from living with my parents to living with George...I can't think about losing my parents, not even for a second...because I've NEVER KNOWN LIFE without them. Even if I don't physically speak to them, I feel their support on a daily basis. I've never gone a day without it. And my heart breaks for those who have lost their parents, and have to know this pain everyday. Then I think about losing George, and how much of a void I will feel daily, and it makes me so anxious I have to consciously tell myself to stop. And tonight, when I thought about the love I have already for my daughter, and how that love will grow...and how it is not only love, but also RESPONSIBILITY...well, I think I'm already getting a taste of what it's like to be a worrywart mother.

In other words, I'm turning into my mom.

(Bust out Lion King's "Circle of Life" here.)

I'm more blissful than I am anxious, even if the post reads otherwise. I just have a very strong attachment to my people. Sending out all my love to my parents and sister, George, and our little one. And sending out love and prayers to everybody who has experienced the loss of a parent, sibling, spouse, or child. Your reality is my biggest fear. Your strength inspires.

xoxo,
L