Tomorrow I turn 37.
And I finally know what e. e. cummings meant when he wrote - I carry your heart in my heart.
I am not young, but not yet old. I am about to be a mother. And I am not afraid. Excited, yes. Uncertain, of course. Anyone who says they aren’t is lying. Through their teeth. But I am strong in my belief, this is a blessed human and we are blessed to be able to raise him. To show him life and experience it through his eyes.
As I type, his tiny feet and hands trace the inside of me. It makes me smile, to understand with new appreciation how capable a body is. I have heard countless times, your body is no longer your own. But as I celebrate my own birth, I must disagree. My body is mine. It belongs to me. It is capable of housing a small human for 40 weeks. But I have gone no where during those weeks. And I will remain, though not unchanged, as my body births what it has taken nine months to grow.
Of all birthday’s this is the most special. I will never again be able to repeat the gestation of this boy and for that I know exactly why I carry his heart deeply embedded in my own.
To 36, thank you for changing me in ways I do not yet know.
And to 37, thank you for welcoming me into a new sisterhood, a new experience and a deep, abiding love.