When I got pregnant, I didn’t realize how quickly my life would change. Before this, I prided myself on intensity, on jam-packing my days, committing to all things work and social and hobbies.

Within the first week of being pregnant, my body started changing. I was exhausted, sweatier on the subway platform, and I craved things.

And then within the next few weeks… I didn’t exercise at all, I felt the (tiny!) biceps I worked so hard to tone in the last year or so melt away. I couldn’t do social commitments, I hated going to the pottery class I signed up for. My life didn’t feel my own. And I laid awake during hormone-disturbed nights worried about the one-way door I’d walked myself through.

Everyone makes pregnancy out to be this joyous thing! I should be so grateful. (This dream also isn’t possible for many people and I don’t want to discount how lucky I am.)

So, it feels unholy to feel this way. A pregnant woman has no ill feelings toward her future child. She chose this. Her job is to be a great, wholesome future mother. She is flower-printed and she is glowing and nurturing.

I think both can be true though. I can feel grief about this part of my life ending, but also be moved and marveled by the experience. A beautiful thing is happening inside my body right now.

It is the most human thing to be able to hold two (seemingly opposing) emotions at once.

So, I’m grieving this part of my life. I don’t actually know how I’ll change in this next phase, but I am wholly, entirely giving myself up to it. It is terrifying. I have never felt more vulnerable.

What if I lose the parts of myself I love most? My creativity, my capacity to learn, my bullishness, my ambition. It’s all up for grabs. But maybe I won’t change very much at all. Who knows? In the moments I feel most sick, least in control, I have to remind myself…I have so much to gain, too.

So — thank you to this whole phase of my life. Thank you for making me who I am, for helping me live fully. Thank you for making me someone I’m proud to introduce my future child to.

I can’t wait for her to meet you.