It’s a strange time when you’re nearing the end of a pregnancy. It’s like straddling two worlds. Two different realities.

There’s the current reality: I’m sitting on my fit ball, it’s the only place I can get some relief from the pain in my pelvis and back. Third time around and I didn’t know until now just how painful pregnancy can be. But I’m not alone. Mr 3 finds his ball and quietly bounces beside me. The pain ranges from a dull ache to feeling like my body is going to split in half and yet, I’m happy. I’m filled with gratitude for the opportunity to carry and grow another baby. To give birth one more time and raise the child that will complete our family.

And there’s the reality that is just on the other side of this. The one with a new baby. A totally new way of being for our family. The sore boobs and broken sleep and countless hours of committing every detail of their little face to memory. This new reality is exciting and petrifying and monotonous and glorious. It’s oddly close but far away at the same time.

And then there’s the chasm in the middle. The unknown. The wondering. How long will this limbo last for? How much time have I got left to soak in every last moment of being pregnant (aching vagina and all)? When will we meet our final, beautiful piece to our puzzle? Boy or girl? Holy shit, we don’t have a name yet. And don’t even get me started on the impending birth. I love giving birth. Like, love it. But as I feel those waves start to build low in my belly and then subside I’m suddenly reminded of just what I’m about to go through. It’s a terrifying yet exhilarating privilege.

It’s a strange time when you’re nearing the end of a pregnancy. And knowing it’s the last time (no, seriously) adds an extra bittersweetness to it.

My third child, we look forward to meeting you in all of your divine timing and beauty.