It’s surreal to think that this time last year I was pregnant with our first child. I was almost 12 weeks along. Nearing the end of the first trimester. I was looking forward to finding out the gender and to the end of morning sickness.
Everyone (doctor included) kept saying how our risks of a loss went down to almost nothing after the first trimester. We figured we got through 12 weeks, and our little peanut was still in there with a nice strong heartbeat so we were good. We were safe…
We were so naive to this world we now live in. We didn’t know or want to think about the chances that something could happen after those first 12 weeks. Our family history was clean. Yes, there were a few premature births in there, but a few extra days in the hospital and everyone was fine.
We didn’t get fine. We didn’t get easy or safe. We got blindsided, by a premature birth and then again with a NICU death 36 hours later.
You can read every book. You can follow every doctor’s instruction. You can research and ask every question, and still, sometimes things don’t go right.
At my 12 week appointment last week, my OB asked how I was doing – emotionally. I told her, right now, I’m fine. I’m positive and full of more hope than fear, but this part was easy with Josh too. The first trimester, the second trimester, they were easy. I felt good. I’m worried that the fear will sink in when we get closer to the third trimester. When we get close to 29 weeks. That fear is still there. Lingering in the back of my mind.
I’m scared. I quote scriptures in my mind all day to try and push the fear aside, but it creeps back in. The what-ifs. Those things that I knew nothing about at this time last year.
I miss the innocence of last year. I miss not having to stress and hold my breath before each doctor’s appointment and ultrasound.
I miss the 100% pure joy that we had with Josh.
Now there is this fear that tries to steal the joy and I hate that.
Truthfully, I’m not sure I will be 100% comfortable in this pregnancy until I am holding this baby in my arms, safe, healthy, and alive.
But until that beautiful moment, I will keep repeating this: