Just Before The Birth Again- Japan- Pregnant- U... Apr 2026

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.

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 . Just before the birth again- Japan- Pregnant- U...

If you are reading this from a coffee shop in London, or a living room in New York, or a similar apartment in Osaka—take a breath. The waiting is the labor, too. The waiting is the work. I am no longer a tourist in this

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. The rainy season came and went

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.

Mata ne. (See you soon.)

I remember the pain of the first birth. I remember the moment the contractions stopped being “waves” and started being a house falling on my spine. I remember the kanji on the hospital wall that I couldn’t read, and the nurse who spoke only Japanese, and the terrifying moment when I realized I had to translate my own moans.