Thursday, May 03, 2007

Partly Sunny

This season of my pregnancy has been like a Seattle Spring. Moments of delicious, lilac-and-saltwater saturated sunshine, and moments of stark chill and darkness -- those times when we rush inside from the backyard to curl up under a blanket. Some days are sunnier, some are colder, but any given day could be forecast as “partly cloudy,” “showers,” or “partly sunny.” Which never really tells us what to wear, or how long we can be outside before coming in from the cold.

But most days really are partly sunny, if we‘re lucky and pay attention. And so I’m thinking of my life as “partly sunny,“ too. I’m expecting a baby girl, and enjoy the giddy relief of carrying her through the second trimester. I'm also preparing for a radical hysterectomy, as cancer treatment, when she is delivered this summer. Fear and thrill, grief and joy. It would be dishonest to say that the happiness outshines the anxiety. To pretend everything is fine is to lie -- and no more practical than wearing a sleeveless maternity dress on a day forecast for rain. Still, I’m inspired by what Elizabeth Edwards said, when asked whether encouraging her husband’s Presidential campaign, in the face of recurring breast cancer, is a kind of denial: that she will continue to deny cancer control over her life, every day that she continues to live.

So where's the balance? With luck and mindfulness, I can honestly immerse myself in sunny moments: The lush May branches arcing over our heads as I push my toddler’s stroller through the leafy streets of our neighborhood. His surprised exclamation that “we are FRIENDS!” as we cuddle before bedtime with his head on my growing belly. My daughter’s incessant thumping inside me -- already insisting on her own independent rhythm -- so much like the occasional bumping on the other side of the bedroom wall, as my son stirs in his sleep.

When I let myself rest in these sweeter times, I can feel the sun on my face and be fully thankful, in that moment, for all of our blessings. As my son sometimes says, looking around at his toys or our dinner table, “We have SO MUCH.” And we do. And when the clouds roll through -- when I’m temporarily chilled with the stress and fear of what’s to come -- I know better than to pretend it’s sunny. Sometimes, all we can wish for is a blanket to curl up under, and cry -- if we need to -- until the moment passes.