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.