Story of a life

 I am pregnant with my second child. The journey is almost to an end. Almost 37 weeks. I don’t know what is at the other side of it. Hopefully a happy and healthy mom and baby and big brother. In sha Allah khair. But in my heart, I am already mourning the loss of my pregnant state. I love being pregnant. I loved being pregnant with my first and would love to keep this second one inside me if I wasn’t afraid it will get too difficult to actually birth this child. I don’t like the nausea, the smell sensitivity, the back pain but I sure love the feeling of growing a tiny human inside me. Labor and delivery aren’t dreams either but, to me, breastfeeding is harder than that.  I love this baby. As I do the older one. And I can’t wait to meet the masterpiece God has created in my womb this time but in a way, as long as I can keep the baby in my womb, I can protect and keep safe. When out in the world, I cannot. And the world can be cruel. Without regards to one’s age or ability. And ...

 I gave you my life. My heart, my body, my soul. All of me. Whole, pure, and untainted. I carried your child. I am carrying your child. I made you a home. I gave you a home in my heart. I left my career for you. I preferred you over myself in every way I could. Unwillingly at times and with all my heart more so than anything else.  You gave me grey hair. I love you. Still. Always. Forever.