We are fortunate to live close to both of our jobs. When the weather is nice, I ride my bike to work. Last year, A and I rode all summer long. Autumn was mild so I rode my bike to and from work up until 36-weeks gestation (at that point it became too difficult to swing my leg up and over the bar on my bike; it’s a dude bike). A good friend suggested taking a photo of big ole pregnant me on my bicycle. E snapped one picture around that 36-week mark as I pulled up to our house. I love that photo.
I hadn’t thought much about this until Monday evening when I checked the forecast and decided to ride to work the following morning for the first time this year. Poor E. We were relaxing on the couch and I casually mentioned I would be biking to work in the morning and then let out a yelp and started bawling.
It hit me that the last time I was on my bike, A and I were together. I considered how much time we spent together on the bicycle. Going to and from work, to and from prenatal appointments, riding with E too to hear outdoor music or go to the market. Some people thought I was out of my mind for commuting this way while pregnant but I knew we were safe and it kind of gave me a sense of pride. I anticipated parenting my baby my own way, even in the face of criticism from others; this was just an early example of that.
I did ride my bike to and from work the rest of this past week and I did not have another meltdown about it. Biking each day was a special activity that A and I shared, communing with each other and it’s just another reminder of how sorely I miss his presence. I look forward to riding together again someday with my precious son.