Dear self,

You are 31 weeks pregnant. This is what your body looked like at the time. No matter what you hear, you will miss this pregnancy when the baby comes. You will look back with rose colored glasses and you will long for the belly, the attention, the kindness of strangers. The beautiful movement inside of you throughout the day. And it’s okay to mourn the end of the pregnancy of your last baby. But also remember this: it was hard as hell.

Don’t forget the brutal migraines that lasted well into the second trimester. The vomiting, the trip to the Asheville hospital. The crippling depression and anxiety. The increase in anti-depressants that devastated you, that worried you and made you feel ashamed. The heartburn. The anger. And don’t forget the diabetes. How could you? It’s with you every day, all of the day. Don’t forget the insulin resistance, the inability to eat anything, the daily (instead of every three days) pump change out. The acceptance of metformin. And the numbness of your feet. The discoloration of your eyes. The breathtaking fear you felt every time the Doctor looked at the ultrasound and commented on your babies size. The feelings of failure and the acknowledgement of age and its impact on your body.

Don’t forget the missing of the wine. Oh dear the wine. And working out. Running. Wearing normal pants that button. A normal bra that doesn’t look like a parachute. The back pain and the tight glute muscles and the dry skin and strange spots. The inability to get up and out of the couch. The exhaustion and the need for the nap and the way your kids didn’t notice or care. Or the full day of work and the full night of kid work that followed. Not being able to change your own sheets on the bed anymore.

But also, don’t forget this.

The wonder you felt when you looked at your body naked at the 20 week mark. The beauty of the swollen belly. The way in which a body that has always caused you insecurity and shame, suddenly made you feel proud and as beautiful as you ever had before. The awe you felt looking at this powerful, brave body growing life inside of it. And the knowledge that you….specifically YOU had it harder than others. That you overcame those battles. That when they said “no, don’t do it again” and “it will be too hard on your diabetes”, you simply said “get out of my way”. And the love that you feel for that little baby already. A love that you grew to feel after a fierce battle with post-partum depression last time. The knowing that YOU can and YOU will survive whatever is thrown at you.

That, I will miss.