I used to be a pretty superstitious person. And then all of sudden, I wasn’t. Well that’s not entirely true, I may still have some leftover quirks, but after we lost Baby Krueger, I realized that I just can’t be that person any more. While I’ve never been a gambler, playing the odds when it comes to pregnancy had not quite worked in our favor, so we stopped paying attention to the statistics, and tried to focus where we were at each moment—good and bad.

When we were lucky enough to bring C, our oldest son home thanks to domestic adoption, we made a conscious effort to not say the phrase “I can’t wait for…” Rather, turning it around to “I look forward to…” The former seemed to wish away time, and we had waited so long to bring a child of ours home that we didn’t want to miss a moment. It was a small turn of phrases that helped to remind us of how fortunate we were.

When I got pregnant with J, my shoulders were practically attached to my ears with all of the tension and anxiety I was carrying. When we finally “came out,” everyone told us how excited they were and asked if we couldn’t wait for his arrival. We joked with my doctor about the notion of putting us in a bubble where we could wake up when the baby was ready to arrive. Sure, on the surface, that sounds great—to not have to deal with the day-to-day crazy of “is this going to be the moment something goes wrong?” But on the other hand, there was life to be lived during that time. And shutting down or tuning out meant that we’d miss out on precious time in our lives, as individuals, as a couple, and as parents.

Throughout that pregnancy, especially at the end in the summer months leading up to his August delivery, people joked “You must be SO ready to get him out, huh?” And while on some levels I wanted nothing more than to fast forward to the end, my bigger concerns were for a safe, healthy and living arrival. So I’d say, “I’m good. Let’s let this little dude cook for as long as he needs to. I’m in no hurry.” I could stand some sweat and discomfort in order to get there. And here I am again, hitting those same summer months in an extraordinarily hot Chicago summer, answering the same questions with the same answers.

Perhaps that’s why this time around, when friends wished me B’sha’ah Tovah, a Jewish saying which translates to “at a good hour,” it really resonated with me. I had never heard of it before now, but basically it is saying, all in good time, may all go well. It’s a beautiful thought that sums up how I feel about pregnancy.

I think it is easy as when PAL to want to wish away time in the hopes of a successful outcome, but what do we miss out on? And now, as I find myself in a position I never imagined I’d be in again, I’m trying even more so now to take advantage of what is sure to be my last pregnancy and, dare I say, try to enjoy it?


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