If you’re looking for pregnancy advice, it’s out there for you. If you’re not looking for pregnancy advice, it’s coming to find you.
Somebody else can bombard you with tips on swaddling. I don’t have any advice for you; what I have to say, deep down, you already know.
Mothers, would-be mothers, long-awaited mothers, unwilling mothers, thrilled mothers, natural mothers, modern mothers, frightened mothers, mothers who don’t yet know they are mothers:
You can do this.
I don’t know you, but I know a lot about you. I know that you are the product of 2 billion years of evolution—and, at the moment, you are winning.
I know that there has never been a creation story told anywhere on Earth that is half as extraordinary as the one taking place in your body. Gods and heroes haven’t got a thing on the quiet deluge of cellular division you are capable of orchestrating.
I know that you are strong because strength is not the hammer; it’s the forge. “You’re as big as a house!” you’ll hear. Bullshit. You are a mountain, and the wind blowing hard through the timberline booms with a voice that says: do not fuck with me.
You’re a lava flow cooling in the Pacific, all heat and steam and purpose. You’ll change—oh yes, you’ll change—and what you’ll be when you’re done is two people. If that doesn’t blow your mind, it’s because you haven’t really thought about it yet.
You are not diminished; you are enhanced. Whatever you thought you were before, you’re better. Whatever scares you now, you’ll conquer. Whoever you were is exactly who you are still going to be, only with more love and less fear.
You are a lightning bolt, and you can do this.