For the last 38 weeks, my body has been producing life. I can’t explain the details of how it works,
but somehow my heart, my brain and my organs have been building and sustaining
the life of another human being.
I have become a host for an “alien” life form.
Now, even though my physical being has gone into auto-pilot
to complete this process, my mental being still has to reach a point of
acceptance. My body automatically does
what it needs to take care of this tiny human, but my soul—my soul must take
care of itself.
When I initially got pregnant during my first year of
teaching, I adopted the Rosie-the-Riveter-attitude. I am a
strong, independent woman, I said, and
if anyone can get through this, I can.
I was cool, nonchalant, confident. Yes, I was vomiting, but I even did that with
style.
As the months continued, I realized that it wasn’t going to
get any easier—neither teaching nor reproducing. I realized that pregnancy was going to be a
long, hard process and as far as the light at the end of the tunnel? Well, it’s going to be a painful tunnel.
I’ve got 1 week and 4 days to go. My journey in the wilderness is drawing to a
close. I know that I’ve been
strengthened. In fact, I can think of
several mornings when I knelt and prayed to “just make it through this day,
just give me the strength to make it through today.” Miraculously, those prayers were and continue
to be answered.
But I also continue to offer them.
Accomplishing hard things is not about finding the easiest
solution. We don’t award Nobel Peace
Prizes to scientists who instantaneously or spontaneously found the cure. Our highest honors and admirations go to
those who tried hard and who often failed—sometimes 10,000 times.
Hosting a human has reminded me that hard was never meant to
be easy. Hard was meant to be hard. And I believe in doing hard things.
