Why is it that so many awful stories come out of the woodwork when you're pregnant? How can so many terrible things happen on this road to baby?
Even though I'm totally sick today (which tells me that we're still cookin', this little one and me), I'm also nervous. Anxious. I can feel that threat of whatif breathing down my neck.
I have the faith. Truly, I do. This tiny one growing in me is our baby. I can just feel it deep down in the depths of my being. I will be seeing his or her little face in August (if I'm really being honest, I'm convinced this is a September baby. Leah was going nowhere and hadn't even dropped at week 39; she only got out by way of being breech. I suspect I'm not an early deliver-er).
The unknown. It's out there, and it is so hard to keep my focus off of the dark shadow of could and might.
The journey into motherhood is the scariest one I've ever taken.
Don't get me wrong, it's also the best journey I've ever taken. So, so beyond worth it. But there is nothing comparable to this experience that so powerfully requires me to willingly bare my soul and open myself up to the possibility of pain and sorrow. To invite the coulds and mights and whatifs in, in exchange for the chance to have the greatest miracle of all.
It's a steep price. It's one I know I'll pay again, God willing.
Today is an anxious day. Tomorrow will be better.
It always turns out just like God planned.