13 Weeks and chuggin’ along. Rubbing my belly and watching it grow as I eat nutritious, healthy foods and exercise daily. Picturing this miracle grow inside me that represents the love my husband and I share and imagining how perfect precious he or she will look…..
And then reality hits. I grab a cheese danish, plop down on the couch in my pjs I’ve been in for two days, and watch another depressing episode of daytime television. Better drink water with this snack…makes it easier to come up later when the inevitable daily puke in the kitchen sink session starts. I’m sick daily. Yes, daily. Just barely out of my first trimester and I’m hoping it will ease up soon. Food will seem appealing again and walking upstairs to the computer doesn’t sound like a trek through the Sahara. Don’t even get me started with this weather in Ga. I’m ready to move to Main. Sounds magical, huh?
I don’t want to be cynical or a wimp or complain ALL the time. I think of women who try for years and year to get pregnant and would gladly take my symptoms with a smile on their face. The fact is, I just don’t do pregnancy well. At least not so far. So many times I feel like this is my first one. Which brings odd feelings…because it’s not. It’s just so different to have a 9 year old and think about a 9 day old an not feel overwhelmed. I was 19 when I got pregnant with Chase. When I picture myself at that age, or look at actual pictures of me in a hospital bed having a baby, I feel so, so sad for that kid who just had a kid. I had no idea what I was getting in to. Maybe that’s what makes this one different as well. I am no longer a naive little girl and I know exactly the strength it takes to not only carry and birth a baby, but to raise it without completely screwing up (verdict is still out on that one). It’s so….big. As I get older I look at my parents not just as parents but as adults and I understand more and more why I am the person I am now. I am a complete reflection of the people who raised me and the environment I was surrounded by. Knowing the sheer amount of influence you can have in another persons life without even trying is a huge amount of pressure. I’ve scathed by with a child who is polite, smart, listens, obeys, and loves deeply. How the hell I managed that…is beyond me. So what are the chances I can manage that luck again? It’s a lot. I spend a lot of my time lately worrying. It’s no news flash that I deal with anxiety, but being so out of control with this lil’ human in me has not helped. I worry about it daily. If it’s healthy and growing and getting what it needs from me. I worry about delivery; if I’ll end up having another c section and how the recovery will be this time. I worry about what in the world this body of mine is going to look like when I’m done incubating a toddler (my first was large, they say subsequent are even larger). I’m determined to breastfeed, so naturally I worry if I will be able to or even want to once the baby is here (I certainly didn’t feel the urge with my first). I worry how a baby will change my relationship with Chase; if he will be jealous or not as close to me. I worry about my relationship with Ben; how will he do as a dad to a newborn and how will it change things between the two of us. I didn’t have these worries with my first, because I simply didn’t know the difference. Now I know the facts: babies change everything. And I guess with my life being exactly where I want it….I’m worried about that inevitable change.
Here’s the possible upside of things. I’m pretty sure all this anxiety and worry is increased because of two things: I’m not working, and I’m not drinking. I’m out for the summer, which leaves long days of…well..not a whole lot. June was packed with vacation and bdays and beach trips, so that was nice. But July has been long, hot days. All of this free time lends itself to lots of free time for my brain. In addition, not drinking has been disconcertingly more difficult than it should be. When I first got pregnant I commented to Ben that he sure had been drinking a lot lately. (Beer with dinner, drink with a night time movie, etc). He looked puzzled. He was drinking the same frequency we always did, I guess I just noticed more. I slowly realized that in addition to being sick all the time, being sober all the time makes me not a hell of a lot of fun. It’s harder to relax at the end of the day, or any time of day really. It’s also really hard to deal with some of the people in my life sober. Other choices and issues in my life seem to become much more clear and instead of stumbling down a crazy path, I walk tall down the correct one.
So there’s my Sunday afternoon thoughts. 🙂 Fun, huh? Even after all the bitching and whining though, if I allow myself to stop, take a death breath, and yes…run my hands across this little bump of mine, I do still get a peace that life is exactly where I want it to be. I remind myself to work on my faith, to know that everything is fine now and will be fine when this peanut is here. To let go of a little bit of control I so desperately cling to. To thank my patient, amazing husband for putting up with my ass daily, and to JUST.RELAX.
“Decide what to be…and go be it” – The Avett Brothers