I decided to start sharing my experience with baby as we are getting close to his birth and there are a lot of people who care about him and are asking for updates. It is easier for me to put the information all in one place for those who do want to know... and it has turned out to be therapeutic for me to be doing this writing.
I have been journaling for our baby since July, shortly after I found out I was pregnant. I journaled for all of our babies and found it a beautiful way to connect to what was happening. Each pregnancy was different. Daniel's was my first and everything was so magically new. Zachary's was full of being so sick and the stress of moving to a new house and yet I was awed to find out that it was all still magical, that each milestone and movement amazed me. Jacob's was my last - or at least I thought so - and I relished each moment as much as I could while chasing my 3 and 1 year olds around.
This baby has been magical in ways I would never have expected and, to be honest, in ways I would never have invited. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I felt anxious and hesitant. I chalked it up to the fact that this pregnancy was unanticipated and I needed to adjust. We had done away with diapers and sippy cups and bibs. We were camping and hiking and taking on a new stage of family life with our three boys. Could I handle going back to baby days at 41 years of age? Could I even handle the pregnancy itself with all of its illness and aches? Chris was elated and entirely unafraid. I rode on his delight and his assurance that everything would be okay.
I was confident that I would hold onto my life throughout this pregnancy. I was running 20 to 30 kms a week when I got pregnant. I googled "running and pregnancy" and got some tips: don't overheat, slow your pace, listen to your body... I could do this. So I wouldn't run the Las Vegas Half Marathon in December. I was going to be healthy and fit. I ran that Sunday morning and my running partner, a nurse, doused me with water from time to time so that I didn't get too hot. This would work! A few days later I had to leave the class I was teaching at the university to throw up. I made it through the week of teaching and finished my marking for the course, then collapsed. My insistence on running failed each Sunday morning when I found myself glued to my pillow.
At 8 weeks gestation, anxiety overwhelmed me. I was dreaming at night that the baby had died or that something was terribly wrong. I went to the doctor and asked her to please trust my mother's intuition. She did and we went for an ultrasound the next day. There was our tiny baby with heart beating and limbs moving. I cried with relief. My dedication to this little being was solid now. I knew that I wanted this baby, that I was already hopelessly in love. I would be a mother of four. Sometimes God's gifts are unexpected. But my family is full of love; of course there was room for one more.
I was welcoming the end of the first trimester with all of its sickness and exhaustion. I had spent much of the summer in bed, unable to enjoy my children or our one brave camping excursion to B.C.. We went for the screening ultrasound as we had done in my previous pregnancies. This time, the news was not reassuring. The complex combination of the nuchal fold measurements, my preliminary blood work, and other risk factors, indicated that something was wrong with our baby. Some possibilities were tossed out but they wouldn't know until we did more testing the following week.
The days in between were the start of a very long roller coaster ride. I would reassure myself that everything was actually okay, that we were one of the inevitable false positives. Then I would find the fear overtaking me and I would cry and fall into desperate bargains with God; I would be so so good forever if only our baby could be okay. Please. Then I would allow myself to contemplate parenting a child with disabilities and the power of the love and strength in my family would seem like maybe enough... but maybe not.
I ached. Everything had changed. There was a family reunion that weekend and I was afraid to go, afraid that people would ask me if I was pregnant and I would fall to pieces. I dressed carefully to hide my rounding belly. I spent the hours surrounded by my aunts and uncles, my dear cousins and our many children, pretending that I was not feeling ill and heavy-hearted. The next day, the nausea of the first trimester lifted at last. The start of another kind of struggle had begun.
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