Can you even BELIEVE that I am well into the third trimester already?!
When I say this pregnancy has flown by in the blink of an eye, I truly, truly mean it. It feels like just yesterday I was staring down at those two pink lines in disbelief and excitement, trying to wrap my head around the fact that baby number three was officially on the way. And now, here I am, eight months later, with a very wriggly bump, aching ribs and a bladder that is working overtime, inching closer and closer to the day we get to meet them. Wild doesn’t even begin to cover it.
This pregnancy, though—this one has been different. Not necessarily harder in a traditional sense, but certainly more emotionally layered, more complex. I’ve always considered myself incredibly lucky when it comes to being pregnant. My previous experiences were, all things considered, quite smooth. But this time around has felt like a rollercoaster. I’ve lost count of the hospital visits, the calls to triage, the anxious moments of not knowing what’s going on inside my own body. It’s been a little chaotic and at times quite frightening. So to say I’m grateful to be safely in the final stretch feels like such an understatement. I’ve been holding my breath a little with each passing week, and now, I can almost exhale. Almost.
And yet, as we edge closer to the finish line, a strange kind of grief is quietly making itself known. A part of me is aching, deeply. I can’t help but feel this overwhelming sadness that this phase—this incredible, all-consuming chapter of my life—is drawing to a close. I love being pregnant. I love the bond it creates before I’ve even met them, the flutters turning into kicks, the quiet moments at night when it’s just me and baby, connected in a way only we can understand. And oh, labour—yes, labour! As intense and raw as it is, it is euphoric- That moment when your baby finally arrives—it’s pure magic.
So knowing this is the last time? It’s hitting me in ways I didn’t expect. This is the last time I’ll feel a life growing inside me. The last time I’ll daydream about what they’ll look like, who they’ll be, while they kick away beneath my ribs (my poor ribs!) These sacred, fleeting moments are about to become memories, and that thought can bring me to tears in an instant.
I’ve always felt like I was made to be a mother, it's something I have always dreamt of being, since I was a little girl. Even after three, I certainly don't have have all the answers or always know what I’m doing—but it fulfils me in ways I can't explain. Seeing the world through my babies eyes, carrying them, birthing them, loving them —it has been the greatest honour of my life (wow I'm a mushy mess aren't I!)
And yes, I am tired. My body is so tired after three babies in five years. But it’s my heart that feels the weight of this ending the most.
At the same time, I’m starting to feel little sparks of excitement for what comes next. As bittersweet as it is, I’m ready—kind of—to close this chapter. To get reacquainted with the version of me that exists outside of pregnancy and planning for more babies. To rediscover my own identity, to explore new passions, to maybe even take on a few new projects or businesses, all while still being completely immersed in motherhood—the beautiful, messy, chaotic, joyful ride that it is.
It’s all just… a lot. So many emotions, all at once. Grief and gratitude. Sadness and hope. A quiet mourning for the woman I’ve been, and a warm welcome to the woman I’m becoming. If you’re reading this and feeling something similar, please know you’re not alone. This is such an emotional transition, and it's okay to feel all the things at once.
Sad to close one door, but excited—truly excited—for what lies on the other side. For the growth. For the memories yet to be made. For the future of our beautiful, ever-growing family.
x M
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