I know we don’t usually get to talk on the same day we post an informational article—this morning’s piece on winter garden planning was already scheduled—but this was heavy on my heart as I sit here, coffee in hand, savoring the second-to-last morning of quiet before everything changes tomorrow evening. Sometimes, life demands we pause and reflect, and today is one of those days.
This is it: the last quiet morning before my life turns upside down again. Tomorrow, I head to the hospital to welcome baby number six into the world, and let me tell you, it’s been a journey. The kind of journey that makes you sit down with a hot cup of coffee and reevaluate your entire existence.
Spybook’s been busy lately, reminding me of posts from women grieving that they’ll never see two pink lines again or feel those little kicks from within. And here’s the thing: I’m not one of those women.
I hate being pregnant. There, I said it. I hate the nausea, the acid reflux, the constant bathroom trips that feel impossible when you’re too big and too tired to move. I hate the way my body feels hijacked, the breathlessness, the swelling, the everything. The keepsake at the end? Beautiful. The process? Not so much.
I’ll miss parts of this stage, though. The calm before the chaos. The way our family routines settle into this rhythm before being uprooted by late-night cries and diaper changes. The closeness I feel with the child right before the baby, a closeness that inevitably shifts as we make room for someone new. But the rest? The physical constraints, the pain, the limitations? I won’t miss them one bit.
And you know what? That’s okay. It’s okay to feel all of this. It’s okay to hate being pregnant while still cherishing the life you’re creating. It’s okay to grieve the changes while being excited for what’s to come. Suppressing these feelings doesn’t make them go away; it just lets them fester, and I refuse to do that to myself.
This pregnancy, more than any before, has shown me just how much the farm and life are intertwined. The farm has felt the strain of my limitations. The storm back in June took down most of our shade trees, leaving the soil scorched and grass dead. Without my usual energy to keep things on track, we’ve fallen behind on chores and maintenance. The last two months have felt like the farm is falling apart. And yet, just like this season of pregnancy, I know it’s temporary.
Farming, like life, is chaotic. Sometimes it feels like everything is out of control. Crops fail. Animals die. Storms destroy. And yet, you keep going. You plant again. You rebuild. You adjust. Because the farm, like family, is worth it.
In six months, this chaos will start to shift. Baby Aliyah will begin solid foods, and I’ll retire from my role as a 24/7 milk bar. In a year, she’ll be walking, and in two or three years, she’ll be toddling around, helping (or “helping”) with farm chores. Just like the land recovers from a storm, our family will settle into a new rhythm.
And that’s the magick of it all. The chaos, the struggle—it’s all temporary. But the joy? The milestones, the first words, the look of wonder as she discovers the world? That’s the good stuff. That’s what makes the chaos worth enduring.
Here’s the truth: growth is messy. Farming teaches you that. It’s hard, it’s unpredictable, and it almost never goes to plan. But it’s also beautiful. You plant seeds, you nurture them, and you watch them grow into something amazing.
I may not miss being pregnant, but I will always embrace the lessons it’s taught me—about patience, resilience, and finding magick in the middle of the mess. Just like the farm, this family of mine is a work in progress.
And who knows? Maybe six kids is enough, or maybe one day we’ll grow our family another way—adoption, fostering, or surrogacy. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that when you’ve got love to give, there’s always room for more.
Until next time,
Traci
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