Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Finn 2

I knew I would miss being pregnant before he was even born. I loved being pregnant - ailments and all discomfort aside, I loved it. I knew I would. I loved the feeling of a baby - a new little person with so many possibilities growing inside me, watching my belly grow, and documenting it all with almost daily belly shots.

Sometimes, now, I wish he was still inside me. I miss the anticipation and excitement. I miss feeling him move (Really move - I'm still having phantom feelings of him inside me. Perhaps they're real, just twinges as my postpartum body sorts itself out, trying to return to "normal"...).

I've been feeling really homesick for Pearl Street. I haven't been there since the early morning of September 18th, leaving in labour and thinking nothing of it - just of a new baby and a new house - a new life. Now I really miss the old everything. We have had some good times there - lots of them. Lots of difficult times too, but when I think of the house I think of over crowded tables with too much food (and wine?), lots of noise, lots of silence, beautiful evenings on the balcony, beautiful mornings on the balcony. I miss watching and waving to my neighbours - having Heather at arms reach, T and T's boys paying on the street, the playful sounds of the back lane ...my garden.
This house sort of lacks the neighbourhood feeling that Pearl Street had. My view now is great - can't beat it,  right(?), ..but I find myself longing for the familiar view of the street, the trees, the people nearby. I feel like everyone is so far away now with no sidewalk directly outside my door even though we purposely moved away from that, thinking the distance was better. It's really hard to say what's "better" sometimes.

I think I'm equating a lot of my homesickness with missing being pregnant. The memories that flash most through my head right now all have to do with being pregnant - everything from morning sickness and days on the couch with headaches to trying to induce labour by bouncing on the ball in the living room, decorating that incredible nursery, waddling out to the balcony (I can still smell the air from that balcony, feel it... that balcony was some kind of magical), bellyshots around the house and garden...  .
I have more memories of being pregnant with Finn than being with Finn. 
I think about it constantly now. 

So much happened in the time I was carrying him, life changed so drastically. I credited my pregnancy with saving me through the loss of my mother. As hard as it was to face having a baby without her, my baby gave me reason to take care of myself and not fall apart.
Sometimes, now, I wonder if she had to die so that she could be there (wherever there is) for Finn. I like to imagine them together - with my father too. Sometimes I picture Finn as a little boy between them holding their hands. I like to imagine him safe with her, learning from her. Were their lives and deaths somehow connected?

How completely unfair. My heart is so broken.

I think about all the places 
Finn and I 
went together while he was inside me. 

When I go out now I find myself remembering

"I was here with Finn"

"I walked this path with Finn"

and when I'm in my own world thinking 
I remember trips we went on - to Ottawa (and one of the first bellyshots on Parliament Hill)

and to Duluth, twice, to get the car we needed for our expanding family.
I think about all the places Finn and I went on my scooter (breaking my promise to my mother that I wouldn't ride while pregnant).

I so badly want to turn back time, have my belly back, have my baby back. 
The emptiness is painful and is going to slowly swallow me for the rest of my life.

The last bellyshot, 
taken the day before he was born 
during the final walk-through of the new house before closing:

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