Really Deep Thoughts

10 weeks... that's it. 10 weeks until she's here--well, maybe even less! 10 weeks until I'm 40 weeks, so technically she could be here... I don't want to think about it. I am finding myself empowered and vulnerable, excited and terrified, elated and upset. What, have you never been around a woman? We can feel all those things and not explode.
Some things I am not sure of: how will I possibly survive delivery? Will I love her on sight? How will I get any sleep? Where should I put all my books--under her crib? How will everyone take it--really? Lindsay as a mom? Will I ever be the same person again, even for a flashing moment? Will she really be worth it?
Most importantly, how will I pull this off? I read a woman's words who thought that pregnancy and death were the two times a woman feels absolutely alone... I thought, that's silly, of course I'm not alone. Even if I didn't have support around me, I'd still have the baby in my womb--you know, that thing that's made me sick for 7 1/2 months! But she's right--it is the most solitary journey a woman will take until it's time for her to die... And not just in the ways of "if you don't take care of your body, no one will." You are truly a vessel, the only vessel, and no one can take your place. And that's all just the pregnancy part--the real work begins the moment you hear her first cry.Hannah, my mom, Emma, and I went to take some photos of me yesterday, because I realized I had been avoiding cameras for the past 6 months. How can I even describe what it felt like to see these pictures, see confidence in my face, see how the big, ripe belly can look so sweet when you know it houses a little Thumper of a girl, see that I could still be beautiful, still be Lindsay--a newer version, a better version, a version with more depth, but still me. A few things you should know about me as a mom:
My daughter will fall asleep to Tori Amos, U2, Rolling Stones, the sound of Grandma's cackle, Grandpa's silly jokes. She probably won't fall asleep in her own crib for months and get spoiled, because everyone is so excited to get their hands on her and never let go.
My daughter will know every Greek myth, every Lewis Carroll poem, will know about the strong women in history that are heroes, will be prepped as a woman warrior, will be encouraged to read, write, draw, create, think deeply, sing, dance, and let the chips fall where they may.

My daughter will probably have stuffed sharks, not teddy bears. She'll probably wear bracelets that get stuck inside her chubby wrists, and they'll coordinate with the high-tops laced onto her chubby feet.
My daughter will be loved. My daughter is loved. Thank you for loving her. Thank you for loving me.

Oh, and as for my sass, my sense of humor, my wit? Yeah, she'll get half of it if she's lucky...