Babies babies babies. For the last eight months babies have been topic of conversation in little the blue house on 318 West Geyser St…because you see, in just few weeks or so, we’re going to have one of them.

Very soon there’s going to be this brand-new human that is half of Brad and half of me. And I spend my mornings wondering whose fingers he will have and what kind of faces he will make. I spend my afternoons folding teeny tiny tee-shirts and matching itty bitty socks, daydreaming of the itty-bitty feet that will fill them. I spend my evenings laying on our purple couch balancing bowls of popcorn on my belly – watching with wonder and a little weirded out-ness as it bounces and wiggles, morphing in odd directions, trying its best to accommodate the pineapple sized being in there, making itself at home.   

And all I can say is that I really don’t know if I’ve ever been this happy. Life feels sort of pink and hazy.…like I’m all wrapped up in this euphoric fog of just-couldn’t-get-any-better-ness. It’s kind of like the way you feel floating down a Montana river at sunset, or staring over a desert landscape at dawn – like everything is just so beautiful you can hardly stand it, and you don’t know how you got lucky enough to be part of it all.

But I haven’t always felt happy. And this journey hasn’t been an easy one. In fact, I would say it’s been one of the more difficult walks I’ve taken in my life. And while the thought of sharing this makes me that panicky kind of deep-down uncomfortable, I’ve learned that what I experienced isn’t that uncommon – and that a lot of what women go through during pregnancy and childbirth and mamahood stays tucked between bedsheets, behind closed doors – glossed over with Instagram pictures of perfect belly bumps and flawless family photos. And while I don’t mean to discredit any of the happiness that is shared, what I am saying, is that doesn’t always depict the full story. And that the constant exposure to everyone else’s highlight reel – can make you feel really really really alone. But imperfect moments are part of life – and what I think actually connect us most to each other. So in the spirt of full-fledged honesty – I wanted to write about how my transition into this phase of life actually happened.  

I’ll start by saying that a baby was always very much part of the plan. In fact, it was pretty much the sole catalyst responsible for sparking the first-year fire. We had wanted to spend time just the two of us seeing the places we had always wanted to see, doing the things we had always wanted to do, getting each and every last itch out of our system - and then bam, come home, start the job, buy the house, fill it with a couple of mini-us’s, and live happily ever after. La la la.

And man had we followed through. We had left our jobs. Seen the places. Done the things. Dished out the last of our savings on a two-story, three bedroom, steel-sided beauty, just begging to be filled with one more tiny tenant. The stage was set and it was time, but despite all of that, for some reason I had this visceral urge to dig my heels in to the dirt and slow this train of rapidly evolving life way down. I just didn’t feel ready. 

But after a few “you’re not getting any younger’s” and “you’ll never feel ready’s” from well-meaning family and friends, coupled with the fact that it was taking a lot of the people we knew a significant amount of time to get pregnant, I reluctantly gave the green light to dip our toes into the baby making pond. After all, there was no way it would happen right away. At the very least, I was sure I would have few more months to settle in and get used to the idea.

Wrong.

Three and a half weeks later, I stood – my bare feet pressed against the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, my eyes fixed upon a tiny blue plus sign. The gravity of the situation pushing down on my shoulders with such a force that I swear my heart almost exploded out of my chest. Those delicate horizontal and vertical stripes which in reality only weighed a tenth of an ounce seemed to bear the weight of the world.

I had always envisioned what it would be like to find out I was pregnant. Maybe I’d giddily scream and shout and jump up and down. Maybe my skin would burst with happiness. Maybe I’d be all cute and buy a little pair of climbing shoes and one of those cheesy “you’re-gonna-be-a-daddy” cards to surprise Brad with and watch with glittering eyes as he opened it. But none of those scenarios played out. Instead, I walked directly downstairs. Sat in Brad’s lap. And started to bawl.

I just couldn’t even wrap my head around it. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. What were we thinking? We were still so very much in the getting-our-shit-together phase of life. We had just moved here. Brad had just started a company. I had just barely begun a job. We didn’t have money. Or a doctor. Or friends. Or furniture. We ate our breakfast in camping chairs that we had set up in our kitchen. Our date nights consisted of 10 baskets of free chips and a burrito split down the center. Our Saturdays were spent at bars unsuccessfully stalking potential friends. We were so unprepared and so alone in this very much unfamiliar place - and now we were going to add a BABY to all of this? No way. It was too much, too much, too much.

And maybe the normal me, would have freaked out for a second, been comforted by the fact that I had an amazing husband, supportive family and in all actuality, pretty darn good safety net. Maybe the normal me would have taken a deep breath and a step back and realized it wasn’t as dire of a situation as I was painting in my head. Maybe the normal me would have quickly moved through the freak out phase into the happy, giddy, excited one. But this wasn’t normal me. This was very newly pregnant me. 

And what they tell you about being pregnant – what you hear from the time you’re a very little girl - is that you’ll just fucking love it. You’ll radiate…you’ll glow. Your cheeks will be rosy and your hair will sparkle like sunshine and you’ll shoot butterflies out of your eyeballs. And sure you’ll  be a little “hormonal” and maybe get a little morning sickness (how cute), but it will be the happiest time of your life. There’s nothing better. But what they really don’t go into detail on, is the really yucky, really difficult, really hard stuff that can also accompany pregnancy. Like those hormones for example…they’re anything but cute. Those sneaky little bastards - they have the ability to take over your body. They can grab hold of your feelings and the pump them and inflate them and inject them with steroids – until this completely normal emotion you might have…like maybe a sense of unpreparedness or overwhelm…it will grow so large and so fast that before you know it, you have a battle raging within your veins and the only thing you’ll be able to do to cope is cry.

And man did I cry. I cried doing laundry. I cried in the shower. I cried into the refrigerator door while reaching for the kale. I sobbed until I was sure I was empty, until I was positive my body could produce no more tears. I started to hate the winter. And Montana and its gloomy wide-open, snow-covered spaces that felt so desolate and lonely and miserable.

And despite all of the reassurance in the world from Brad and the three-hour long phone calls with my mom, I couldn’t shake the sadness. It was like someone had taken my previously level-headed self, and replaced it with this pathetic blubbering mess. And to top it all off, I couldn’t even have a goddamn beer.

But the worst part of all was the guilt. I would see these photos of happy mommas and babies – I would start questioning what was wrong with me. Why did I feel like this? I had been blessed with this little miracle that I had wanted alllll my life and I couldn’t get happy or excited – what a horrible mother I must already be.

And then something happened. I walked into a prenatal yoga class and sat down. And listened as three other pregnant women told us how they were doing and started to cry. I wasn’t alone. These were my people. They understood.

The days ticked by and little by little I built my tribe. I found a therapist I adored, a midwife we love. I went to coffee with the wonderful women I met in yoga and listened to so many stories of anything but perfect motherhood moments.  Our jobs got more stable, our life started to feel more at ease. We bought a couch. And a kitchen table…even a few chairs. And as the sun started to peak itself out from behind the winter barricade, my fist-trimester came to a close and my hormones adjusted their levels back to normalcy. I started to feel more like myself again. Those feelings of terror and overwhelm began to fade – and in their place, the feelings I thought would have felt from the beginning – the happiness and excitement started to replace them.  

And now here I am in this land of blissful contentment (interrupted only occasionally by uncomfortable swollen knuckles or a pinchy lower back) so in love with the idea of this tiny person about to make his debut. And while I still feel a little guilty, and sad that the initial part of this didn’t happen like I had always pictured, I’m learning to let it go. To chalk it up to normalcy. Because while I think the transition into motherhood really is everything they say - beautiful and amazing and unbelievably life changing - it also isn’t all sunshine and butterflies. It’s a time of massive change and ginormous uncertainty. And while your body fluctuates in ways you can’t imagine, your soul has to experience a few shifts as well. I think it’s when we’re the most human we want to hide, but if we can reach instead, to someone who will listen – we might find we’re not so all alone. Maybe those difficult things we’ve gone through are more common than we’ve thought. Maybe the imperfection is just part of it all.  

And oh, my sweet  baby -

If you ever find yourself reading this I want you to know, that while I may have been wildly unprepared – and so so worried when you announced your arrival, you have always been – from the very first second of your existence –  wanted and adored and unconditionally loved. I think my biggest fear was that things might not be perfect when you arrived, but I’m so very thankful for the first lesson that you have taught me – which is that things don’t have to be perfect to be wonderful. And what I can tell you, with the most absolute certainty, is that we have a whole hell of a lot of wonderful in this household.

I want you to know that you picked the very best daddy in the whole wide world. He’s truly one of the good ones. One of those make-you-laugh, hold-you-when-you-cry, love-you-no-matter-what, stand up guys. He’ll keep you safe and take care of you. He’ll take you on great adventures and do his best to listen and understand, even if he doesn’t quite get what you’re going through. And if you ever find yourself in a fit of hormonal rage, screaming at him in the car (as I expect you might when you’re about 14), don’t worry - he’ll get over it…I’ve recently tested those waters for you.

The world is so big and so good and we promise to show you everything we’ve learned about happiness in it. To take you to all of our favorite spots and teach you all of the things we know. We promise to be silly with you and laugh. To snuggle you next to campfires and read you bedtime stories under middle-of-nowhere stars. To make pancakes and dance around the kitchen table on Sunday mornings and give you childhood that is wild and messy and free. We promise to show you that the biggest of joys can come from the simplest of things and that dreams are worth having and chasing  - and then chasing some more. We promise to encourage you and support you. To let you screw up and be there to catch you when you fall. We promise to worry about you sometimes and argue with you sometimes, to sometimes hold you close and sometimes let you go. And above all, we promise to surround you with a big, fat unending love that is never doubted and always felt -  wherever it is that you are.

I cannot wait to hold you. To look at your daddy’s face when we get to meet you for the first time.  To smell your hair. To kiss the fingers and toes that have been tickling my insides. I can pretty much guatentee I won’t be perfect  – but I swear I’ll give you everything that I am capable of giving, and then give a little more. So go ahead and bake a little longer, but know that when you’re ready to arrive we’ll be here. So in love with you already. So excited to see what life with you has in store.