I can see the end of this strange journey into second-time motherhood. The proximity of the end of the path surprises me because I have been so removed from the process of pregnancy this time around. This pregnancy has passed without the frantic studying of obstetrics my last pregnancy brought, it has passed without worrying about the music playing inside my uterus, or hearing and feeling every movement. It has passed without a constant counting down of days. The days, weeks and months have passed on their own - my body has grown and changed with my knowing at every moment exactly what is happening - my faith in my primal ability to grow and birth a child have been nearly unwavering.
This isn't to say I have been completely removed or ignorant of what is happening, it is just to say that so much else is going on I haven't been paying the same attention I did last time.
Initially, I waded through denial, I just could not believe I was pregnant again. Then, as pregnancy became less deniable, I found myself caught up in the combined processes of moving, raising a toddler/preschooler, domesticity, and maintaining a sense of self. Lost were the sense of wonder and excitement that filled most of my days when I was pregnant last, replaced instead by the feeling of juggling plates - fragile plates, cherished plates, so many plates...
All were dropped, some broke, some chipped, and some have managed to make it through miraculously, or at least seemingly, unharmed. I do not regret anything - I mourn my friendships, but also know that I have time for that. My relationship with my son is still strong, though often rocky - my relationship with my husband could be described similarly. My house has gone through periods of absolute chaos and absolute cleanliness, it tends to slip into a happy medium that might be a few steps from my ideal, but a happy medium nonetheless.