It was a lovely day. It was a fantastic weekend. We started Music Together after a break for the summer, we ran errands, we mowed grass, we went to a fall festival that included a pony ride and petting zoo. We had lots of Leah and Mommy time, because Daddy was working. It was delightful. Picturesque. There was peach cobbler for desert.
|Daddy did get to join in the fun for this part...|
Most of the time, I think, "I'm fine. There are tons of reasons to be grateful," even though things didn't end the way I wanted them to. Most of the time, I genuinely believe that, and all I feel is ready for the next step, whenever that should arrive.
But I almost lost it at our class. All the babies, all the new mommies. The lullaby that sang, "sleep, sleepy head, I will keep you safe and warm" and it reminded me that the little one I was trying to keep safe wasn't.
There was a brief moment - a tenth of a second - where one of the other mommies asked me whether we were going to have another, and I almost told her we were pregnant. It flashed through my mind for one joyful instant before reality sucker punched me in the gut.
I have had to block more than one expectant mommy from my facebook page. It's not that I mind the pregnancy stories. In fact, there are several I am so beyond excited to hear, because I know bits and pieces of what it has cost them to make it to their pregnancies. So of course, never, ever would I begrudge them that happiness.
Besides, their comments are different. They're just telling stories about being pregnant, and it's abundandly clear the gratitude they feel to get to experience even the worst, most challenging parts. I get that.
But the others. The others are whining. And I can't take it. Not when a miracle is happening to you. How do you find it in you to complain?
Okay, so some parts of pregnancy suck. Some are totally weird, and you feel like an alien has taken over your body. I remember. But all I really remember feeling is completely, beyond words inspired and awed that I should be that lucky. It was a transformative experience in all ways possible, second only to the actual experience of motherhood. It is one I can't imagine longing for and not being able to experience. Just the thought breaks my heart.
And yes, I recognize that I, too, am now whining. One of the many things I feel is guilt over how much this has hurt me, and how much I wish I was just a little stronger; just a little more trusting and faithful. I don't for one second take for granted how lucky I am, and how I have so very much more than I deserve already.
It's not the whole of my day, or even the majority of it, that I spend feeling this way. I write because it's cheaper than therapy, and frankly, it's more effective. I find safety and grace and catharsis in letting these brief moments of weakness pour out of me so they don't eat at me from the inside.
So that's that. One week down.