Temporary? Insanity

Awhile back, I wrote about a negative pregnancy test. I handled it better than I had any test before it. No weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth (actually I never do that – it really hurts) – I handled it with a grace and dignity that belied my innate melodrama. It was weird.

Weirder still was when I went to toss the test in the garbage . . . and saw the faint line. I didn’t squeal or dance or anything, I was that certain that I was willing the line into existence. I kept checking the test periodically and yep, the definitely-just-a-figment-of-my-imagination was still there.

A few more days and a few more tests later and it was confirmed. The one month we didn’t try, I got pregnant. Hasn’t that been done? I both love and hate what a cliche that is.

It wasn’t long before the spotting started. Memories of my miscarriage last summer came on fast and thick. I started having panic attacks and flashbacks, and I couldn’t fight them off no matter how ridiculous I thought I was being having post traumatic stress disorder over such a thing. I mumbled que sera, sera a great deal. I sought to be calm and accepting and rational. Inside though, I was a wreck.

There were blood tests, and an ultrasound that I missed because I woke up feverish and also spotting the day I was meant to drive the two and a half hours to have it. I knew that anxiety would do much, much more harm than good, but I pretty much just wandered through life in a fog. The uncertainty of what was happening in my body seemed to infect every other aspect of life. Nothing felt real.

At last, the spotting stopped. Slowly, hope began its gradual arcing into my heart. That hurt. A lot. I did not want to hope. More weeks passed though, and yesterday it hit me. I think I’m going to be okay. Wow. Oh heck, this is real. There are consequences to this being real. Getting bigger. The nightmare that is maternity clothes shopping. Three kids. Oh. My. Three kids and two hands. We are insane.

But I can reach down already and feel the gentle swelling of the baby’s growth within me (bye-bye cottage cheese consistency tummy!) and while I’m still so, so scared that something will go wrong, I’m starting to believe that maybe it won’t. And that maybe the threat of miscarriage was a gift to me becuase no matter how sick I get (okay, not very, I’ll admit), I’m not curling up on the couch and devolving into a whiney pseudo-invalid. Each bout of queasiness is exciting to me. I am grateful for every symptom and sign that things are progressing.

Today, a wave of nausea washed over me and I found myself grabbing the kitchen counter to steady myself. Immediately after, I did an atrociously hideous little happy dance. I feel sick and I couldn’t possibly be happier about it.

Due Date: November 30th
And yes, we are so going to find out the gender this time if we can.