I am 15 weeks along tomorrow. It seems it has gone so slowly, but then again so fast. I cannot believe how different this pregnancy is from Lily's. It's harder and easier at the same time.
It's funny how when you begin to regain a little bit of energy, feel a little less nauseated, and a lot less like just lying on the couch trying not to throw up all day, that you realize how truly awful you felt. With Lily, I wasn't sick. I was so tired I couldn't walk thru the grocery store, but sick- not a bit. This one...oh this one! I am feeling so blessed that this little one has held on this long that I am not going to complain...but boy oh boy I bet this is a boy. Trouble already, I tell ya.
I've been thinking this morning about what pregnancy should be. A time to be joyful, to watch your body change and grow in ways that amaze and sometimes mystify you. It's a time to think about family, and what life is really all about. It's a time to slow down a bit.
For me, all of this is true. But it's also a time of serious medical intervention, specialists, increasing medication, and worry. I wish it wasn't- but it is. Pregnancy simply sets my body into a tailspin. BP bobbles, diabetes, etc. My hands don't work, my mind is fuzzy. I'm not myself. I am two people. And what should be a symbiotic relationship between me and my little fetus becomes a body war where I simply surrender to the invasion.
Now don't get me wrong. I realize how blessed I am.I am fully aware of how much this baby means, and how much I am going to love him/her. It's just getting to delivery day that's hard. It's hard to feel so sick, and have friends wonder why I am ignoring them, or not be able to go to exercise class and blow off steam. I don't want to complain to anyone- so if you're asking me if I am okay, I'm going to say yes.
But do you want the truth? I feel cheated. I feel cheated out a pregnancy that should be filled with joy that rapidly gets sucked out of it by doctors and medicines and worries. I know what's down the road... growth problems and diabetes, finger sticks, insulin and every ob telling me the baby is too small. My BP will skyrocket. It's kind of a given. And I am ready for it all. But I am also a little sad that I can't just enjoy.
From the ob to the high risk ob to the nephrologist to, I am sure, the endo, the medical visits, tests, and interventions will mount. I am ready for that too. But it doesn't mean I am any less sad that it has to happen. I wish my body did what it was supposed to do- that it would carry my baby with no more complications but heartburn and nausea.
But in the end, it is 9 (10!) months of troubles for a lifetime of joy. And in that moment when this little one (God willing) is laid across my heart, none of it will matter. But for now, it does, just a little.
