When you see the “abomination of desolation” spoken of by Daniel the prophet standing where it should not be (let the reader understand), then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains. Let him who is on the housetop not go down or enter the house to take anything out of his house. Let him who is in the field not turn back to take his garment. But woe to women who are pregnant and to those who nurse in those days! Pray that your escape may not be in winter. For in those days there will be distress as has not been from the beginning of the creation which God created to this time, nor ever shall be. Except the Lord shortened the days, no flesh would be saved. But for the sake of the elect, whom He chose, He shortened the days.
Mark 13:14-20 NASB
“Woe to women who are pregnant and to those who nurse in those days!”
2026 C.E. What a time to be alive. What a time to be a woman. What a time to be pregnant.
So much of this pregnancy has been an anxious experience for me. The first trimester, we were just crossing our fingers that I would stay pregnant. We didn’t tell people, worried to get any hopes up. We had lost before. Please God, let this one stick. Someone advised that I just “enjoy the pregnant experience.” I tried to think about that as I battled fatigue, nausea, and constant worry. Grateful, but so worried about what we stood to lose.
Today, I’m nearing the end of my second trimester. Now I worry we won’t be ready in time–the house desperately needs a deep cleaning. The guest room is full of things we need to organize and purge to make room for new life and the myriad of things we apparently need in order to sustain it. We have so many debts and bills already. Some of that has been mentally debilitating. I want certainty. I want to plan everything into place. I want to manage everything into submission. I can’t. Meanwhile, my belly grows. Now I can feel kicking and hiccups and what I’m fairly certain are laps being swum and flipturns being performed off of my organs. When I need to reach things on the ground, I bend over like a giraffe, spreading my legs out wide to make room for my tight belly, involuntarily grunting.
Dear reader–please understand that it is impossible for me to write this reflection or talk about pregnancy or anxiety without talking about our political landscape right now. Just as Mark refers to the Roman occupation and incoming destruction of his time, I’m discussing our current political situation. Something about being pregnant has evaporated my willingness to soften my words to ensure they are considered acceptable/reasonable in the eyes of others. I’m anxious and I’m also angry. I have lost rights to the choices I can and can’t make over my own body in this country in the past few years. I am grateful to be pregnant now, but I did not always want to be. I am married to a Mexican American man, and there are ongoing debates and legislation that would deny that he and his family are (or could ever be) truly American. Anti-immigrant rhetoric abounds. Students at the school where I teach live in constant fear that their family members won’t come home. My own father vehemently supports a leader who routinely espouses xenophobic rhetoric and has torn countless families apart in the name of legality (read: not morality). Our unborn child will inherit some aspects of the same bitter struggle my beloved husband has lived his entire life. And these are just a few aspects of the worries and losses and exclusion in our country and our world. I fear for my trans brothers and sisters. A girls’ school was just bombed. So many lives, just beginning, snuffed out. There are days when everything feels ugly and scary and entirely too much (and I’m protected from so much of it). How much more others must be experiencing!
Third trimester? Not there yet. I’m resigned and certain that it will contain its share of anxiety. This *gestures at everything* is heavy. This is our reality. We are lucky and we are worried. But we are expecting, after years of trying. My body is growing heavier with new life. It is beautiful and it is hard. We did not choose the timing. We hope for better– for ourselves, for our families, for our country, for our baby. For the world.
Something about being pregnant, about planning for a future, is a protest. This is the awe. There are incredible things to live for–I maintain my habit of focusing on little pleasures these days–my husband’s excellent breakfast sandwiches. Sunrise and sunsets. The scent of citrus blossoms on the air. Green hills, even if only for a few more days before they brown in the heat and sun. A child currently dancing in my womb (read: on my bladder). Looking both forward and back, there are so many beautiful things about the mix of cultures and values and beliefs that make up the environment, community, and family our Mexican-Celtic-American baby will grow up in. This is how we survive–how we have always survived, even in times of great trouble–in community. Community is also how we flourish–how we take care of each other. There is still an earth and unknown futures worth protecting, cultivating, and growing. This is the distress and the worry, but this is also the joy and the hope. This is our story.
Marjorie Ellenwood is a teacher and a cat mom who likes growing things. She is currently growing a human being.