I am aware that even as I write this I have friends who are longing for a baby, a call from the adoption agency, two lines on the stick, the opportunity I’ve been given.
I pray for them and long for them and hope for them and wait with them.
And when I sit in the examining room waiting for my midwife, crying because I’ve already reached my ideal weight gain for this pregnancy and I still have sixteen weeks to go, I am racked with guilt that I am not more thankful for this blessing.
But sometimes one person’s blessing is another’s trial.
Please don’t think I’m horrible because I’m unhappy to be pregnant again. I want this baby. I really do. We’ve named him. We’re designing a nursery. His sisters kiss my belly, and I proudly tell people we’re having a boy after three girls.
But for a person who has always struggled with self-image, with weight, with being compared to everybody else, pregnancy can be a burden. People assume I’m due soon. Not really. May is three holidays, a winter storm, and lots of rain away. People assume I’m having twins. Newsflash: Ultrasounds are pretty high-tech these days. People tell me not to worry about it because it’s a boy and they’re just different. People tell me I’ll lose it after.
But I’m still crying.
I avoid pictures. I don’t feel beautiful, and since I rarely did before, 25 more pounds isn’t helping. I have no confidence in any decision I make. Eat a salad? I’ll be hungry again in an hour. Eat a cheeseburger? I’ll swell up from all the sodium.
Today I counted carbs. That actually helped a bit. At least I was aware of what is too much. At least I felt a little bit more in control.
Which is ultimately what this is about. I constantly feel like my life is out of my hands. That no matter how good a wife and mom I try to be, something is going to come around to remind me that I will never be good enough.
Linking up to Capturing Motherhood today and planning to read the article she’s linked to because clearly I’m out of sorts today and need to remember Who is on my side.