At 28 weeks pregnant, I wouldn’t have imagined not feeling pregnant. Struggling with sickness more than the first half of the pregnancy, being weak-and-exhausted-and-barely-functioning, a growing tummy, I certainly felt physically uncomfortable.
But the joy? The realization? It was missing. After trying to get pregnant since I got married, you would think I would be thrilled – bursting – bonding with the life inside? My head and my body knew I was carrying a life, but I cried more wishing I had more emotions than from actually having emotions. And it hasn’t helped that people seem to not notice that I’m pregnant (where are all these supposed hoards of pregnancy-belly-groping-women?)
During Mass this morning, walking back from receiving our Lord in the Eucharist, I made eye contact with a lady sitting by herself in the front of the cathedral. She smiled at me, with a look in her eyes and I knew immediately she recognized I’m pregnant. It was only a smile, but I knew. And in that moment, for the first time, I felt pregnant. I am truly carrying a life – my daughter entrusted to my husband and me by God – and when I returned to my seat, I teared up for just a small moment, tears of joy, tears that represented life, the future, something bigger than myself.