Slower is harder
Third trimester fear, swollen feet, and the holy work of living in-between
I waddled down the stairs hearing my toddler and husband chatting and eating pancakes and raspberries. This pregnancy has left me with worse round ligament pain than I’ve ever known and a part of me was already wondering how I was going to make it to the end when it felt impossible to wiggle out of bed or make it down the stairs.
After my toddler finished his breakfast he climbed onto my lap and noticed how big my belly had gotten. He gave it a polite little poke and then looked up at me with a smile, “mama are you having a baby?” he asked. I laughed. “Yes, I am.” Watching a two year old try to conceptualize pregnancy has been wonderfully entertaining.
Some days, my husband walks in the door and I welcome him home only to tell him my feet are swollen and I need to sit down as soon as possible. The toddler starts asking for Chick-Fil-A and I shrug at my husband telling him I don’t care and I go to put my feet up, finally let my brain settle down after a long day of mothering.
When it’s quiet and I’m finally resting, I hope for a break but as soon as I have a moment to myself my mind is racing: What do I need to pack in my hospital bag? What if I go into labor in the middle of the night and don’t get to say goodbye to my toddler one last time? Where did this heartburn come from? I can’t even remember what I ate today. Do I remember how we got my son to sleep through the night? And did I even do that or was it a coincidence?
I turn to music or a meditation app and try to quiet my mind. Sometimes I try to journal but in my fort of pillows attempting to position my belly, hips, and legs just right I can’t find a way to comfortably write anything. Eventually, my feet are less swollen and I’ve given up on the idea of rest.
I tell myself it’s all going to work out. I try to shrug off the stress so I can enjoy what feels like quickly disappearing one-on-one time with my son. I’m eager to make the most of it, wanting to load both of us up with memories of how special this time is when our days are just ours to go do puzzles at the library or walk around the neighborhood to stop and peek at all the supplies in landscaping trucks or eat quesadillas while he attempts to sing “Old McDonald Had a Farm” to me through giggles and bites.
A hormonal pregnant moment snuck up on me and I told my husband how unprepared and afraid I am. The end of pregnancy always feels unstable and uncertain and a part of me grasps at things to control and plan for while another part of me just wants to pretend a change isn’t coming at all. I want to prepare perfectly and also freeze time completely. But then I want time to speed up, for the waiting to be over, and to throw my hands up and say, “this is it, we’ve done all we can for now.”
I am so excited for this baby to arrive. But I am also terrified. My identity is shifting in a big way and along with it—my routines, my relationships, and really every aspect of my life will be untouched. I’m afraid of the change and nervous for what comes next. I’m hopeful and scared and stuck in some in between.
Yesterday in my workout class the instructor said over her mic, “slow down. I think slower is harder. But don’t rush. You’ll miss the good work if you rush through it.”
And it’s true of life right now too. I can’t speed up the next few weeks and skip to feeling more settled with a new baby. I can’t skip ahead to knowing how the story is going to go. I can’t rush through this timeframe of feeling very, very in-between.
The Bible is full of people who had to live in the middle of the story—Abraham waiting, the Israelites wandering, David anointed but not yet king. Long seasons where the promise was real but not yet fulfilled. I don’t love the waiting. I don’t love the not-knowing. But I’ve noticed spiritual formation rarely happens in the arrival.
Instead, it happens here—in the long days that feel like they are stuck on repeat and drag on, in the slow and patient obedience, in the trusting even when it feels like time moves slow and God’s voice feels quiet or distant.
Slower is harder. But there is good work here.
Encouraged by this as I'm 36 weeks pregnant with our first baby -- so many similar emotions. Thanks for sharing and the reminder of the purpose in this slow in-between!