Breathing Life

My almost four-year-old daughter takes blowing bubbles very seriously. While my two-year-old sticks the bubble wand in her mouth, her older sister breathes life into each bubble. Our Sheltie puppy then proceeds to chase after each bubble, snapping at it and going berserk until she's eaten all of the bubbles.

I sit in the swing, watching my girls, and take deep breaths. For four months now I have not been able to take a deep breath. It started with pneumonia then bronchitis then strep throat. I was left with not being able to take a deep breath, and it is mentally very uncomfortable.

But now I worry, is the baby growing inside me getting enough oxygen. Is it fresh oxygen or stale? Can I breathe life into her by trying to take as deep a breath as possible?

I'm finally reaching a new stage in motherhood, one where I feel more settled, more confident, more relaxed at being a mother. This new sense has given life to my writing. My pen flourishes on the paper during the few free blocks of writing time I get each week. And I am loving it.

I don't know what the future holds for me when our third baby is born this fall, but I do feel more confident now in knowing that I won't spiral into that overwhelming, all-consuming mommyworld. Having a newborn and a child under two was rough on me. Having three children will be challenging, too. But I feel as if I know what I am getting myself in to this time. Sort of.