I feel horribly guilty. Like I'm complaining. Like I'm not appreciating the wonderful blessing God has given me. Because I am very aware that God has given me a miracle. I am pregnant with what appears to be a very healthy baby boy, and am (at this point) only days from the end. Given our history, I cannot be content until he is in my arms - sturdy and healthy. But to reveal my insecurities and my physical pain - to ask for my friends thoughts and prayers - feels weak. Shouldn't I be stronger than this? Shouldn't my faith sustain me more?
Some certainly seem to think so. It hurts to have your greatest fears confirmed by people that you love. Even when you begin to see that they are wrong. I may not be OK. In fact, I am certain that I am not. I don't have to be, though. I would love to bear my pain with more grace. But I am not there yet. Despite my prayers.
And then I realized something absolutely startling. The longest I have been not pregnant is nine months. The nine months between giving birth to Dancer and becoming pregnant with Diva. Nine months. There have been other shorter periods where I wasn't pregnant. But I've spent the majority of the last eight years growing people.
As the pregnancies have worn on, especially the last three, I've become aware of how much damage my body has accumulated. The physical toll combined with the emotional one has become a burden that I fear will break me. Especially now...
The doctors told me I mattered. They told me that my physical, emotional, & mental well being would be factored into their decisions during this pregnancy. But they lied. They do not care. They simply keep telling me that there is "no medical reason to deliver."
Days pass, and as he grows ever larger and heavier (estimates exceed 9 pounds now), fatigue has settled deep inside my muscles and bones. My joints, which have never had the chance to recover from one pregnancy to the next, make movement excruciating. Even things like my hair and skin, and my teeth, have been effected by the years of pregnancy.
My pain exhausts me now. It makes it harder for me to balance my joy and my grief - to accept the presence and validity of both in my heart. I fear that I will not make it. That when they finally let me have him...I will not have the strength left to endure. Not only labor, but the hard days after. The hard road to actual recovery. The chance to feel normal again someday. My body needs rest. I need rest. And healing.