I have an issue with showing vulnerability. Dave sees me don the momma cape with no issues. Go.Go.Go. If I’m wavering, I just go harder. Shed a tear because I am feeling weak? Not an option. At least not until I’m in the car, alone, or the shower for one of those long “I actually get to use soap and shave my body” showers. Which is why these last few weeks have been the hardest yet.
When I was pregnant with Owen life was so different. The biggest thing I had to worry about was getting up by 7:30 to be at work and what I would prepare for our weekly “Office Night” with our neighbors. Even before I got that positive sign, I felt pregnant. I just knew. I noted every difference in the way I felt, noticed every change. It was all I thought about, not a minute went by that I wasn’t thinking of it, googling the changes my body was going through, or planning the months to come.
This time? Is different. It’s like I can go hours and hours and then all of a sudden think “Oh yeah, I’m pregnant.” When unless I have my one momentary “I might barf” feeling for the day, or all of a sudden realize just how tired I am, the notion doesn’t even cross my mind. ME? No, it’s just not true. Until I look at my belly and see that constant bloat that I’m cursing every time I put on my pants.
To me this means two things:
1.) It’s not actually going to happen, something will go wrong. Soon.
2.) I’m a bad mom.
What kind of mom doesn’t constantly think about the beautiful life growing inside her? What kind of mom doesn’t feel every change that’s occurring? What kind of mom can be mad at the fact that this beautiful baby is causing something as trivial as an expanding waist line. What kind of mom is too busy to take the time to thank God more than once a day for blessing me with this gift?
In the moments when I am thinking of this life, I am grateful. I am happy. And I hope and pray that everything is going as I would like. A healthy growth, a healthy heartbeat. But also in those moments, I want to break down. I want to lose it. And for me, this isn’t an option. Not for fear that Dave won’t support me, not for fear that he’ll think less of me or reveal that he has the same fears. But because I can’t be weak. I do everything for everyone, and the moment I take that time to let go, I’m handing over that strength and proving that sometimes I can’t do it all. And I’m not ready to say that yet.
The sane part of me tells me that it makes sense that this time is different. My life is different. I’m dealing with a toddler, more bills, a busier job, the holiday season. The amount that is on my plate has beyond more than doubled. Who has the time to think about being pregnant all the time? This isn’t new to me anymore. When I was pregnant with Owen, of course it was all I thought about. It was all so new! So special! The start of my family. And every pregnancy is different. With Owen I could notice the changes. This time, it’s minimal. I started out this time around so tired already with a busy schedule and a one year old who still refuses to sleep through the night most of the week. So being exhausted? Not anything new.
All of this makes sense. Sitting here writing it makes me feel better. But I know in a couple of hours when the “whoa, I’m pregnant” thought crosses my mind again, the vulnerable, weak part of me will fight it’s way to come out. And once again I’ll push back and refuse to give in. And a big part of me knows that maybe I should give in. But I know that I won’t.