If my genetic heritage is anything to go by, having just passed the penultimate birthday before one of life's big milestones, I am really only on the cusp of my third trimester. My mother made it to 90, and my father to 93, so with 60 looming within my sights I could still be around for another 30 years. That's an awful long time to put up with arthritic pain and endless nights of broken sleep if you think of it, but it also means there is still the chance to discover more of who I can be, what I can be, and even what I might want to be which until now hasn't surfaced.
The third trimester is an interesting time in a woman's pregnancy. Even though this new life has been cooking away for six months, the last three months become a period of waiting as your body increases in size and decreases in activity. You start to look inward, wondering just what sort of person you've created here, the impact this new arrival will have on your own life let alone the life of your family, whether or not you'll be up to the job of meeting the needs of this thing which has complete disregard for anyone else's needs but its own. Will you be completely swallowed up by this new being, or will you still have some shreds of yourself left over that are somewhat recognisable as the 'you' who existed BC, that is, before child.
The third trimester of pregnancy is the beginning of the end. There is light at the end of the tunnel, there is an inevitable goal in sight, to be greeted with joy, fear, anticipation, dread, excitement, or resignation, depending on your circumstances. I've been there done that, twice, feels like a lifetime ago, though if you sat down with me long enough I could bore you with the stories of the births of my children with a lively running commentary of which any sports presenter would be proud. Try it with any mother. Whether a year ago or fifty years ago, the details are etched firmly within our psyche.
So, what of this new trimester I am heading into. Am I relegated to the waiting room to join the queue for the slippery slide downwards to the end? While I wasn't taking much notice, time started ticking away a lot faster, so if I'm to face this next step with expectation rather than resignation, I have to get cracking. Am I past the point of having a go at something new? I hope not. I don't want to simply count off the days to the end, days which threaten to become so predictable they are mind numbing and soul destroying. Definitely the formula for disaster, so while there's life there's hope. No, in this third trimester of my life I need to bring something new to birth, but as with all births there is the 'labour' that cannot be avoided. So, after 59 years of gestation, the labour must begin in earnest.
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