I don’t know why, but the closer my due date gets, the more my brain seems determined to come up with new things to worry about.
Lately, I’ve had this lingering fear that maybe the baby will have some type of disability or that there’s something I’m supposed to be noticing that I somehow haven’t. And I know that sounds dramatic. I know there are scans, appointments, measurements, and doctors who are actually trained to look for things. I know that if there were concerns, there would probably be signs or conversations happening.
But pregnancy anxiety does not always care about what I know.
Sometimes it just shows up anyway.
For me, lately, it has been about her movements.
She moves. That isn’t the problem.
If I lay on my side and pay attention, I can count ten movements. I’ve been reassured that everything sounds normal. She is active.
She just isn’t active all the time.
And for some reason, that has gotten into my head.
I see other pregnant women talking about how their babies never stop moving. People complain about being kicked constantly, about not being able to sleep because their baby is doing gymnastics at three in the morning, and sometimes I find myself wondering why my experience feels different.
Because she does move. She squirms. She kicks. She has her moments where I’m very aware that there is, in fact, a tiny person living inside of me.
But there are also stretches where she’s quieter.
And even though I’ve been told that can be normal, my brain starts doing what brains are apparently very good at: taking something that has already been explained and turning it into a completely new reason to panic.
What if she isn’t moving enough?
What if the way she moves means something?
What if I’m supposed to know the difference between normal baby movement and something that isn’t normal?
What if everyone else just somehow got a baby who is constantly doing backflips, and mine is suspiciously calm?
Then, of course, I had another thought.
Maybe we’re just on opposite sleep schedules.
Which, honestly, would be very on-brand for us right now.
My personal sleep schedule is completely fucked.
At this point, I’m usually awake from around 4 p.m. until 8 a.m., with multiple naps sprinkled throughout the day like I’m a cat who also has a severe lack of routine.
So when I actually stop and think about it, I’ve noticed something.
She seems more active when I’m up and moving around during the day.
If it’s 10 a.m. or noon and I get up, walk around, start doing something, or generally exist like a functioning human being, she starts moving.
But after 10 p.m., I’m usually in bed or on the couch. I’m barely moving. I’m scrolling on my phone, watching TV, or, if we’re being honest, watching House and pretending I don’t need to Google every medical thing that happens on the screen.
So maybe she’s asleep.
Maybe I’m awake.
Maybe we’re already working on an incredibly inconvenient mother-daughter sleep schedule.
And maybe that is all this is.
I think that’s the part of pregnancy that nobody can fully explain to you before you’re in it. There are so many things happening inside your body that you can’t actually see. You can feel her, but you can’t check on her whenever you want. You can’t ask her, “Hey, are you sleeping, or are you just being suspiciously quiet today?”
You just have to trust your body. Trust the information you’ve been given. Pay attention when something actually changes. And somehow not spiral every single time your experience doesn’t look exactly like someone else’s.
Which is easier said than done.
Especially the closer I get to meeting her.
Because I think, underneath all of these random worries, there is something much bigger happening.
I’m scared.
Not necessarily because anything is wrong.
But because soon, she’s going to be here.
She won’t just be a collection of kicks and squirms and hiccups happening inside me anymore. She’ll be an actual little person that I get to look at and hold and learn about.
And I think the closer that gets, the more my brain realizes that there is so much I can’t control.
I can’t control who she’s going to be.
I can’t control what kind of personality she’ll have.
I can’t control whether she’ll love to sleep at night or decide that 3 a.m. is the perfect time to start her day.
And I can’t spend the rest of my pregnancy analyzing every movement she makes—or doesn’t make—trying to predict an entire future from the way she squirms inside me.
So, for now, I’m trying to remind myself of what I actually know.
She moves.
I can feel her.
I’ve been reassured.
And maybe she really is just sleeping while I’m lying on the couch at midnight watching TV.
Maybe we’re on opposite schedules already.
Maybe she’s preparing me for motherhood by making sure I understand that she has her own routine and absolutely no interest in following mine.
Honestly?
That feels more likely than anything being wrong.
But if you’re pregnant too and you know what I’m talking about—the weird little worries that pop into your head even after you’ve been reassured—I think maybe that’s part of it.
Maybe motherhood starts before they’re even here.
Maybe it starts with loving someone so much that every quiet moment makes you wonder if you should be worried.
And maybe part of learning how to be her mom is learning when to listen to that instinct—and when to take a breath, put my phone down, stop overanalyzing every single squirm, and remember that she might just be sleeping.
Even if her mother absolutely is not.
