Pregnancy is a beautiful thing.
It is also, in my case, a tired, cranky, hungry, anxious, sleep-deprived, reminiscent-of-teenage-angsty thing.
I am blessed not to endure great physical trials in my pregnancies. My body responds as expected, and usually on the milder side of what’s possible. My emotions, on the other hand, can swell like a tsunami, and most of the time I’m not even sure why.
This week I’ve been struggling. Was it because I was overtired? Was it because I put too much on my plate, as I have a history of doing? Was it because I hadn’t had dinner with John all week, for various reasons (all of which I knew about ahead of time)? Was it because I was starting to doubt whether I really wanted to learn the gender of our baby when I go for an ultrasound this week? Was it because—
Wait a minute. Go back one. Ultrasound. Ah, ultrasound. It’s all becoming clear now.
Ultrasounds, and doctor’s appointments in general, kind of terrify me since losing Ethan. For the week before each of my previous appointments in this pregnancy, I was a mess. Not sleeping well. Not eating well. Not really wanting to do much but get it over with, but being petrified of what I’d learn at the same time. I thought I was handling things better now that this Little One has come further along than he did. Better maybe, but still not great all the time.
So of course this week seems longer than usual. Of course all those little things that aren’t real issues in themselves seem astronomically more trying these days. Of course I can’t sleep well. And of course I’d rather eat greasy pizza than a bowl of fruit.
But of course God has a plan to help me persevere. He’s about thirty pounds, and he goes by “Jacob.”
P.S. No, I’m still not sure whether we’ll learn the gender or not. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, i.e. after I’m satisfied with hearing the heartbeat.