It’s time to get real, folks. And by way of a fair warning, I’m going to say I’m about to get very real here soon. Let me first state the facts:

I am pregnant.

This isn’t my first rodeo.

In fact I have been pregnant six times.

This is, however, my 5th child.

Now that you all know the extent of my insanity, let me just say a few words on all of this, while attempting to paint a little picture for you. I do not write this for any other reason but to kind of set the scene (I am a writer you know) and to explain the way I am feeling. This blog is usually reserved for when I find my life and my writing combine to make something interesting. Right now it’s going to serve its purpose by being a literary outlet for the words in my heart.

Here is what pregnancy looks like for me. I am quite possibly the barf queen of Pregnancyland. To be clear (and I did say I was going to get real up in here), every day of my pregnancy I toss my cookies at least once a day – right up until the blessed day I give birth. During the early weeks (by early I mean the first 20-25 weeks), I am purging my soul at the porcelain throne 3-5 times a day, sometimes a lot more. In the first 13 weeks of this pregnancy I counted having vomited over 125 times. After that I quit counting – I mean, anything beyond this number is equally sucky right?

So I get sick. Is that all? No my friends. About the time the nausea lets up some so that I can feel relatively human, my hips decide to quit working. That’s right, every single move I make (standing, sitting, laying down, walking etc) will cause me physical pain to do. And finally, add this time around that I got a blood clot in my leg that was SUPER fun (and by super I naturally mean excruciating and by fun I mean horrible).

So why would I ever ever decide to do this again after the first time? Believe me, I have been asked this more than once. It was not as if any of my offspring were unplanned. Knowing as I do what I would be required to go through meant that each baby was thought about, prayed about, and considered for months if not years before we decided to try to conceive. You don’t take jumping off a cliff lightly.

Okay, so now that you all know exactly how crazy I am – then why? The truth of the matter was that I felt in my heart, in my spirit that these babies were waiting to come to my family. Regardless of your personal religious convictions, allow me the moment now to say that I knew that these choice spirits were supposed to be part of my family, waiting for me to create their little bodies and for their chance here on earth. I knew that my sacrifice would not be unknown to them. Even now, when my baby kicks – when this sweet little boy who is our last – delights in learning how to use his body, when he lets me know he is there – I know. I know that despite the triteness of the phrase, it is worth it.

And as any mother knows a little piece of their soul is given to each child they love (whether of their own womb or another’s).

So, usually I would not share my difficulties with others. There are a few reasons for this. One, I am acutely aware of the many women whose wombs remain bare and who would give anything to grow life in their bellies. I have some very dear friends and siblings who paid the price of this private pain. To them I try not to sound ungrateful for this chance, despite the suckiness of it. Two, I do not want anyone’s pity. I knew what I was choosing to do when I became pregnant and feel I cannot complain when the expected results occur.

Okay, so after this long winded account – and all my explanations and horrid descriptions – what would be the purpose now of speaking of these things?

I am a writer. I write what is in my heart and have learned to be okay sharing them, even if it exposes me to the ridicule and judgment of others. I wrote this because I felt the need to speak of the beauty of womanhood. The absolute sacrifice we go through, either in our private struggles to conceive, in the debilitating pain of miscarriage, or the glories (both good and bad) of pregnancy. And then, should we be so fortunate, when the baby is placed in our arms – we never ever get that piece of our soul back. It is given to that child and well…we are okay with that. They can have it. It’s our gift.

So kudos to women.

Kudos to ladies all over the world who take that step towards the cliff of motherhood and face it with strength. It’s you that I think of when I stand at this juncture of my life and wait for these 40 weeks to pass. Give yourself a pat on the back – you are freaking’ awesome!