I recently found out that I am pregnant again.
My mental state is as snarled up as a bundle of yarn that’s been attacked and batted about by an ambitious feline. I’m told that’s normal, especially expected, after a loss such as ours. Because there’s no longer any kind of a “safety net” that allows unadulterated bliss. Because we aren’t out of the woods, not until this child is screaming with its first breath and alive and kicking in my arms.
It’s a little hard to swallow, at times. I hate the terror that creeps in unexpectedly.
Before my first OB appointment, I had very nearly worked myself into a panic. I want this baby So Much, I want to be a mother and I want to share that with my dear husband So Bad, that I could barely even function just thinking of all the ways it could play out. Thankfully, I have an amazing OB, who put the entire rest of our intake appointment on hold to do an ultrasound to ease my fears.
And thankfully, all is well.
Fears eased, comfort restored, and I am now gliding along a thin but strong thread of peace. In the hours and days after that first appointment, I finally feel free to get excited about this baby. And it’s such a beautiful, wonderful feeling. And I am so, so happy that I get another chance, I am so very excited to reach the milestones of first ultrasounds, first movements. I can hardly stand the waiting.
Most days I can tuck fear back into the dark corner of my mind and not think about it. I can “float” across the surface and make it through each day while silently ticking off the weeks. I think, sometimes, I should be angry: angry that my innocence was stolen from me, angry that any joy I feel is deeply tainted with an ice-cold bucket of reality. But I’m not, because every day is a gift. A beautiful, fragile gift.
I do not like feeling the vulnerability, the uncertainty, nor my inability to envision this child alive and well with us at the end of nine months, but I have made it my mission to take each joy as it comes and for the precious thing that it is. Day by day, week by week.
Nine months. Can I really do this?