Prior to children bearing, I considered myself a pretty adventurous and easy-going person. Someone like me was always more at ease with the uncertainty of tomorrow than feeling complacent in routine and the foreseen. There was a lot of things that made me anxious, but not a lot of things that made me truly afraid. I never understood at the time that not having a care in the world meant that I had nothing worth caring about. No matter what I have endured since then, it will be always be worth it simply to not be in that place where I struggled to feel anything at all.
It’s true what they say, agreeing to love is agreeing to get your heart broken.
That doesn’t only apply to romantic relationships. I could think of a handful of times my daughter shattered my heart. My husband has broken my heart. My parents have broken my heart.
It broke my heart when my son died.
Yet, with him, I didn’t consent to be hurt the way I was. Innocently and admirably, when I learned of his existence, I thought I was only saying yes to a forever of loving him unconditionally.
Rationally, I obviously knew that babies could die. Every day I was pregnant with him though, was another day in the “It could never happen to me” mentality.
My pregnancies after him were different. I knew it with my first rainbow and I know now. It could very much happen to me. It has happened to me. I’m almost too aware of the chances that it could happen again.
There was a point in my life where the future was merely as far as the next shift at work, the next night at the bar, and so on. Now, the future is something I hopelessly await, or fearfully disconnect from. No matter which side of the fence I stand, nothing is truer than the fact that despite knowing how this could go, I silently gave thumbs up to the unpredictability that comes with bringing new life into this world.
It has come to a point in this pregnancy where the day we finally get to meet sweet Josephine is too close for comfort, yet also feels treacherous miles away. I’m sure this feeling of being “so close, yet so far” resonates with most expecting mothers at some point. Though it rings differently when it’s a pregnancy after loss, especially one that is high risk. Even more so when you’re having a pregnancy where nothing is going wrong, but everything could simultaneously.
I’m nearing the end of my biweekly fetal echocardiograms with Joey, as she’s shown no signs of congenital heart block (thankfully). We’ve also increased visits with my regular OB to every 2 weeks, with growth scans every 4. It’s inching closer and closer to the time that if something were to go awry, it would happen soon. As much as I’m afraid to progress further (ultimately meaning that my risk getting greater), I’m equally as tired being on my toes for every waking moment of the day.
I’m tired of being afraid. I’m tired of over-calculating, preparing for the worst, dissecting every little thing my doctors tell me or don’t tell me, and obsessing over every symptom and movement.
Having an uneventful pregnancy so far has been a blessing, to say the least. It hasn’t however, come without the cloud of complications over my head. My nerves can certainly get the best of me. As much as I love being pregnant, I wish I could just fast forward to the end of it. I hoped I would feel differently this time around, considering how much I have regretted not enjoying my pregnancy with Madeline. Not to mention the days I would give anything to be pregnant with Rossi again.
I don’t know where this road ends, if I have a baby to bring home or not. The desperation I have to get there has made me feel edgy, guilty, and scared all at the same time.
For now, I’ll have to accept that everything is okay.
I’m not on my time, I’m on hers.
At the end of the day, I have something to look forward to- and that’s seeing this sweet girl’s face.