The Misfortune of Feeling Fine

Since I announced that I was pregnant last week I’ve had several friends and family members ask me how I’m feeling. I told them I was fine.

It’s the truth. I do feel fine. And that’s the problem.

There was a moment, when I first picked up that freshly-pee’d-on test stick from it’s resting place on the bathroom counter, that was full of sheer excitement. Two pink lines. Pregnant. I’m pregnant! The excitement welled up inside of me and shot through my extremities like a bolt of lightning. My body was pumped so full of adrenaline that I felt like I might burst. In that instant there was no room for any other feeling except pure joy. I am growing a baby inside my womb. Miraculous. Too good to be true.

And then, just as quickly as that moment began, it ended. From the dark recesses of my mind came seeping in a painful cloud of dread. My heart sank. In that moment, I was filled with fear. I wasn’t afraid of having a fourth child. I have always longed for a big family, a home full of beautiful babies. This fourth baby is a dream come true. I wasn’t afraid of pregnancy or child birth or postpartum. I’ve done it all before and have enough confidence in my motherhood skills to know that I can do it again. I wasn’t afraid of how much a fourth child will cost. I know that God will provide. Even if we have to make some slight lifestyle changes, sacrifice a few luxuries, I know this darling baby will be worth it a thousand times over. I’m not even afraid of giving birth while James is out at sea because I know that I have a strong enough network of family and friends to help me. I’m not afraid to have this baby. No. I’m afraid to NOT have this baby.

I had the misfortune of losing two babies through miscarriage several years ago. Since then, the excitement of the early weeks after learning I’m pregnant are always tainted with fear. Fear of another miscarriage. I am scared to let myself be consumed with excitement, for fear of losing the baby and being that much more heartbroken in the end. It’s dark and depressing, I know. I wish it didn't have to be this way. I find myself putting a disclaimer on everything baby related. When people ask my due date I say, “If everything goes well then…” My mind fights the urge to make plans for baby’s arrival until it is sure there will actually be an arrival. I scrutinize every twinge in my abdomen. Each time I go to the bathroom I check for blood. I pray avidly for nausea. (Strong morning sickness has been my body’s tell-tale sign of a healthy pregnancy- both times I miscarried, I had been having almost no symptoms.) And, to be honest, all this worry is quite taxing.

So if you really want to know how I’m feeling, the truth is that I’m fine. Which is not fine at all. But I will be fine if I start to feel sick. Which is pretty funny if you think about it.

 

Despite all my fears we’ve made the big pregnancy announcement, and discussed baby names, and we even went to a furniture store to price bunk bed sets (so that we can move Johnny out of the crib to make room for baby). These things might not sound like much to any other couple, but for me being so early along it took a great deal of courage. And faith. For now I am living on faith, because faith can move a mountain. Matthew 17:20 says, “I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” And I’m not asking for any mountains to move. They can stay right where they are. I’m just hoping for a little nausea- and with it a healthy baby. Is that really so much to ask?