journal 14: full
Sunday, March 29th, 2026
Well, we made it. Third trimester, full term. “Baby is safe to come anytime,” our doctor assured us at the last appointment we had.
So now we wait! Hand on my belly, I tell her in the shower that she can arrive whenever she wants. It is my first act as a parent to refrain from imposing my will on this little womb child. Instead, I have prepped our freezer with a few meals. I am cracking down on my reading list. I stay up-to-date on the laundry. And I carve out time for my creativity- self-portraits of the still-growing belly, journal entries, photos of the dried flowers on our front table. Taylor is the same. He made an entire stack of paper out of recycled egg cartons.
With all the clarity of hindsight, I can say that the third trimester was my favourite. The first was an unrelenting hellscape. The second, a relief and also the phase of the most change and newness and of things taking form. The third has been a settling in. A grounding. And months of pure joy.
…which to me means fullness. A complete experience. Joy so abundantly holds it all and I am so grateful for it all.
When I found out I was pregnant in the August heat, I had deep fears of losing myself and now months later, I have reconnected to myself in countless ways. I can’t even remember a time when I felt more like myself than I do right now! I credit my creative and emotional practices for keeping the channels open. I credit the ever-compassionate Taylor and a couple of true friends for encouraging, embracing and loving this newfound expression of authenticity. And I credit the physicality of pregnancy for stripping away old habits and old stories through all of its persistent and unyielding bodily overwhelm. The harsh exposure of what is not working will do wonders in steering you towards to what is. And what will.
The threshold and the precipice between one chapter and the next. An old life and a new one. Our spring baby, our blossoming and our blooming. Her bursting forth in the world and ours, as parents. As selves born anew, in joy. In reverent fullness. In family.
***
January 9th, 2026
So many adults seem to self-regulate themselves into repression. And that’s what it means to be “Grown-up”. “Mature”. “Calm”.
Numb.
Then they talk about the wonder of a child, seeing the world through their awestruck eyes, but they don’t seem to realize that they never had to stop.
Self-regulation isn’t the opposite of depth, it allows for more. I take my nervous system out of fight or flight. I let go of the stories about my emotional responses. I don’t spiral into them. But I don’t feel less. I still feel it all and at a depth of being, the joy and the hurt.
The realm of emotions is not just for children and the goal of a parent isn’t to feel less while your child feels more. We simply have the processing tools.
January 18th, 2026
The first journal living in the new home!
Early morning, 7am, sun slowly turning the night sky blue. I am happy here. We love all the rooms, we have rooms! The bathroom has a window! That’s been a long dream of mine. It feels more spacious. But still cozy. Still an English cottage. We don’t need a lot, but this feels nice.
My desk in the Tudor room. A couple of lamps. I can’t wait to get my frames out. The exhaled, yes. Yes!
February 9th, 2026
I’m going to toast an English muffin with some butter. Ginger tea and a shower.
We both wear our wool sweaters because it has been so frigid.
James is happy, but currently pacing. He hasn’t found a spot besides the bed where he likes to nap, not yet.
We are all finding rhythms in this new home. Our joys among the shifts. Moments of simple breath that surrender us to the greater current.
February 10th, 2026
She was made from the best things.
Not from things like hesitation or worry, tip-toeing or containment. Fear or lack. She did not come to be out of good and boring things like responsibility and forethought and heads on straight. Sensibility, none. Not carefulness, not pros, not cons. Not prefrontal cortex, but limbic system. And heart. Not from a stable job and a deed on a house, but from moving boxes and the hope of a resumé. She was made in motion, in what has yet to be discovered, in the suspension of the unknown and the siren call of the what if.
She was made in the full presence of a moment, eyes focused on each other instead of out ahead. She was made from abandon and surrender and the heat of summer skin and the salt of the ocean which we waded into afterwards. From joy and the unspoken sense of its fleetingness and perhaps the very human urge to hold it in place. It now lives in her. Our confidence, our abundance. Our unrestrained hope for the future. Our faith in something greater than ten months at a distance. Our stubbornness, our grit and our softening, opening and surrendering to love.
She has grown in our humility, in each trying moment since that we wished she was made from a checklist and a steady course and the road well-traveled. Instead of our wild.
But, then she wouldn’t be her and we wouldn’t be us and we would have kept the sun dress buttoned up and said no to a date with the person who lives across the country and we would have gone to bed instead of staying awake to see Cassiopeia and tend to the fire into the night.
We were not made from measuring sensible decisions, but by following some inner call of what feels right. And true. And we created more. She found us reckless and courageous on the breeze of the sea. Her gentle force is already felt and she will shine with all that is untameable. Her light, a reminder of what awaits at the best of us.
February 15th, 2026
The third trimester is hard. More real, more visceral. Pain and heaviness. 32 weeks today.
Yesterday I had an overstimulated breakdown. Taylor held me through the tears. He had a couple of surprises planned, which he then told me about so I could prepare. He was calm and understanding and gentle in the middle of the storm that was inside of me. That’s the real Valentine’s Day, I am so grateful.
March 2nd, 2026
My body feels tired today. Two shoots this past weekend. I make time to rest now and listen inward. There is so much wisdom in this body of mine. 34 weeks.
March 15th, 2026
I love the intimacy of this time, of living with Taylor. My first time living with A MAN and my first roommate in 11 years. And now it happens to be the father of my baby.
He uses the word “sanctuary” for both his studio space in the second bedroom and our home in general. The other night, he came home thankful to be arriving somewhere safe and loving. I feel the same.
I wear many variations of flannel pyjamas and nightgowns. My preferred cashmere sweater is years old and boasts a few holes. Sometimes an entire day will pass before I realize I haven’t looked in the mirror. If I do, it is to check on my belly. Has she dropped any lower yet?
He wakes up with morning hair, especially after getting it cut shorter. Askew and wild, he takes the better part of an hour to re-enter the world from the dream void he sinks into each night. This is after he watches video essays on YouTube that he worries I will find deeply nerdy. He is working on both accepting the fact that I don’t think this at all, and also not caring either way. He loves them. His favourite navy cashmere also has holes.
The deep intimacy of this time is realizing that none of this matters, these messy little human details of co-existing alongside another. They say that desire is born out of novelty, but I have a real safety kink. I have never felt so held and so comfortable as I do now and the freedom of that liberates desire. The ease of being accepted as-is creates the hunger to both expand beyond and sink deeper into self. And into other.
Last night he left for a dinner with friends and his cologne lingered in the bathroom. A night of solitude felt a little emptier because we are good at being alone, together. We are good at staying connected across different rooms, perhaps because we are used to staying connected across the country. I don’t need him to go away to give me space to be myself. Most often, I like that he’s a witness.
Perhaps we both envisioned this time a little differently. Perhaps a little sexier. My body is growing and I welcome him home at the door with the bewilderment of a single leaking nipple (my newest symptom). But as I write this, I feel like crossing that out and screaming YES it is sexy because it is raw and real and because our bodies can be human bodies that do human things and our souls can emerge to sing and play and intertwine in sleepy depths.
It is the intimacy of blending, of creating something unique but shared. Coming together as individuals and retaining that and nurturing that, while deeply immersing ourselves in this sacred third thing, held together in home.
March 24th, 2026
“10 things NO ONE tells you about postpartum” except there are 100 identical videos online saying the exact same thing. Social media as the digital version of group think. Regurgitated trends in the face of waning uniqueness.
Apparently, I am supposed to be feeling fed up with pregnancy. 37 weeks is the new 40. “It’s been 84 years” the old woman from Titanic narrates over videos of women begging for tips on induction, or “eviction”. I can’t help but wonder if this echo chamber actually, and perhaps negatively, influences how women feel about these last few weeks? I am deeply uncomfortable, but I am also on the same team as my body. It will tell me what it needs. Not the other way around.
Taylor took photos of me to celebrate reaching full term and I love them. I used a few different outfits and spots in the home. I look beautiful! And I feel it when I look at the photos. I’m up 25 pounds (so far). Veiny and stretchy. Still figuring out my shorter hair. Society might think this wouldn’t be my most attractive bit. But I look at the photos and my eyes are bright from rest and nourishment and no drinking. My body is doing everyday miraculous body things. My expression of ease comes from a feeling of deep alignment, which is also joy! Getting rid of the heaviness of what drains to make room for what nourishes! Simple celebrations. Love. Having home be a safe place, an emotional container for the ups and downs of life. Freedom of expression. Room to grow and to be. This is what feeds beauty.
Later…
I am grateful for this lull- one week of mat leave past and baby still inside. The in-between. This quiet has let some reality finally sink in and the uncanny of this life change is descending. It feels less conceptual and gradually more concrete. A human baby! Weird. Life forever altered on this new path.
I just felt her movements, even lower in my pelvis.
This time is intense and confronting, yet it feels like a gift. How fortunate to be able to slow down and face it all, rather than rush through it or block out the discomfort to keep going. Instead, we sink in with wide eyes and nervous smiles. We embrace it all.
My 37-week appointment tomorrow.