Dear Body,

               I have to admit, at this point, I have a difficult time recognizing you.

               I don’t say it in an attitude of dismissal. You have been mighty, adaptable, and consistent, even in your changes and adjustments. There isn’t a doubt that you have more in you than I tend to credit; I guess where I wonder is that I never know what that “more” entails.

               As the Little One has become a bigger presence within you, I’ve wrestled with my expectations. Early on, no outward signs came but I felt you turn in upheaval. You made room for someone new when all I could do was sit before God and ask for a broader vision of what it would mean to have the Little One in our lives. My mind couldn’t handle the possibility; you got busy making it possible.

               So I walked with you, paying attention to meal and sleep patterns while bracing for your new needs, like increased protein and more consistent activity and different fits of clothes. (Thank God I embraced loose and comfortable ages ago – much of my wardrobe still embraces you!) I’ve gone to care providers who have helped me understand your cues instead of fear them. Yes, a couple of moments have made me wonder if you’d give out or if we wouldn’t make it, but you’ve held on. As you expand and collect more to sustain both the Little One and me, I practice expanding my heart to continue a healthy relationship with you after this phase has concluded.

               In truth, I need to air a few other things. At the beginning, I feared what it would be like to lose the Little One in all this. I feared how I’d respond, if I’d grow resentful and angry toward you and toward God. I knew enough to acknowledge that this was possible, even likely, and I wanted to brace myself for the worst. In the process, I lost empathy for you. I lost the perspective that for whatever might happen, living within you is a gift and an opportunity to worship and grow, no matter how you operate. Whether you could foster this baby or not, I knew you to be the type that does your best, and I didn’t want to hold any loss against you when I knew you tried. I also didn’t want to refuse the gift of celebration when you held on and held both me and this baby with grace and power. I’m sorry, and I want to keep moving into this new life with you.

               We’re here now, most of the way through a pregnancy that has taught me as much about myself as about so many other things I didn’t know. I have so much for which to thank you, and so many things about you that make me praise our Creator more and more. This process really is miraculous. When I consider the things I can control, I see again how small I am, and how my faithfulness falters in the effort to do the measly bit I can. I tremble in fear; I writhe in frustration. All the same, I thank God for the opportunity to love you enough to begin learning to love another, whose body I cannot control, and whose possibility I can’t begin to fathom. You’ve given me a launching pad from which to begin a metamorphosis unlike any other.

               Thank you for turning with me in worship, especially when I’ve felt less inclined. Thank you for holding this baby, for all the discomfort and pain and uncertainty that has (and will) come. Thank you for reminding me of my smallness, of my meekness before the God who has given us to each other and who has used you to teach me more about his glory and strength. As we continue to walk, I hope I do justice to the blessing that flows from our relationship, however broken or blooming or scary or empowering it feels.

With Love and Awe,

Bekah