— A very pregnant mother in Tokyo.
That is the miracle of the second birth. You are not just bringing a child into the world. You are bringing a sibling. You are exploding one universe to create a larger one.
This is the Ma . The sacred pause.
There is only the pause.
Just Before the Birth Again: A Pause in Japan, Heavy with Waiting
Let’s not romanticize it too much. I am scared.
But this time? Just before the birth again, there is no sprint. Just before the birth again- Japan- Pregnant- U...
Japan has a word for this feeling: Ma (間). It’s the space between things. The pause between the inhale and the exhale. The silence between two notes of music. Right now, my entire body is Ma .
Mata ne. (See you soon.)
I am sitting on the floor of our apartment. The zabuton cushion is flat beneath me. The kettle is humming a low, wet note. Outside, a neighbor’s wind chime ( furin ) clinks in the humid August air. And inside me, a second life is doing the strange, quiet calculus of deciding when to enter the world. — A very pregnant mother in Tokyo
The first time, everything was a checklist. Pack the bag. Install the car seat (which, in Tokyo, means wrestling a bassinet onto a bicycle). Learn the Japanese words for epidural ( takumaigai zentai ma sui —a mouthful of consonants when you are in transition). The first birth was a sprint toward the unknown, fueled by anxiety and the naïve bravery of a beginner.
I am no longer a tourist in this country, nor am I a seasoned local. I am something in between: a mother waiting for a second child to arrive. The cherry blossoms have long since fallen. The rainy season came and went. Now, it is the dog days of summer, and the cicadas ( minminzemi ) are screaming their death song. It feels appropriate. Something old is about to end. Something new is about to scream.
Tomorrow, I will walk to the 7-Eleven ( konbini ) for the last time as a mother of one. I will buy the tonkotsu ramen in a cup that I am not supposed to crave. I will buy a kakigori (shaved ice) because the heat is biblical. I will stand in the fluorescent light, my belly brushing against the magazine rack, and I will feel utterly anonymous and utterly seen at the same time. You are bringing a sibling
In the West, we pack hospital bags with lavender oil, music playlists, and affirmations. In Japan, my hospital provided a list so specific it felt like a scientific inventory: 2 muji notebooks, 10 pairs of disposable underwear, a yukata for walking the halls, and cash. Always cash.
A quiet corner of Tokyo, Japan Condition: 39 weeks, 4 days. Very pregnant. Very still.