Joy

Had to wrestle with this emotion for a week or so before I could really allow myself to begin to believe. So shocking, seeing as I had myself already convinced that this was going nowhere good. I was shaking in the exam room, shallow breathing during the ultrasound clutching my husband's hand as he intently scoured the screen trying to make it make sense. I have kept all my emotions about this baby tightly in check for the most part, not bubbling over with excitement, not mourning just yet. Rather, feeling mostly anxiety.

And then, there it was, that which has been missing too many times before.

Movement.

Fiercely beating heart. Stronger than I could have hoped for.

Perfect.

My baby, safe within, alive.

And then I cried.

This is joy.

This is thankfulness.

This is a God who watched me walk through pain, has hurt to see my hurt, and Who now rejoices with me.

This is emotion finally beginning to release, sometimes in tears and sometimes in laughter. They both mean the same thing.

Joy.

 

Joy mixed with fear

Treacherous weeks ahead, dizzying moments of overflowing giddiness

 quickly tempered by the ever present "what if it happens

 AGAIN".

 I sit, I ponder, I pray, Lord how I pray these days. Wonder if it is enough, if anything I can do this time will be enough. Weigh in my mind all I did before, and how not to make the same mistakes again. Throw my hands up in the air realizing there is so very little I can do, except wait.

Wait. Wait. Two more weeks to wait. To wonder what will be, what will the Doctor's face tell me this time as he rounds the corner. Remembering his words the times before, words that tore my heart into pieces I have never been able to stitch back together.

I feel guilt. Shouldn't have embarked on this again, subjected my children to this possible loss again.

I feel a joy that is so wanting to grow, deep inside my being.

Images flash through my mind, memories of the worst moments in my life. Realizing they were gone, and my mortal arms would never wrap them tightly and lay them to bed. Simply laid them to rest in the ground.

I selfishly long for those around me to pray without ceasing for the life of this little one. This one that my son asked me today, "how do you know it's alive?" I don't. I pray again. Tell him to pray.

I have a wall in my home, with beautiful portraits of me cradling my  children at 3 months old. Interspersed are the icons of the saints chosen for those that I didn't get to cradle.

We rehung those pictures today. Made room for another one. Hoping for a portrait this time.
Today, I am thankful for the nausea that unsettles  my stomach.
Today, I am thankful for the obscene veins down my right leg that have already begun to swell.
Today, I am thankful for the dilemma of having eaten a meal and still feeling ravenous.
Today, I am thankful for the progesterone supplement that makes me a stumbling, drowsy idiot every night before I fall to sleep.
Today, I am thankful for the annoyance of more frequent than usual bathroom trips.
I am thankful for these, for to me they are affirmation that perhaps all is well. The discomfort brings a solace of sorts. A gratitude for things that normally you pray will be relieved. Fearful whenever they subside. My mind runs to places I am scared to go to.

Today, I am thankful for the prayers of my two year old son, words I can't discern, but I can pick out "baby", and "Father, Son and Holy Spirit". I am sure He knows what is being said, and truly He is the only one who needs to.
Today, I am thankful for children who already bounce with joy over this new life.
Today, I am so very thankful for this new baby.