Last Thursday I started feeling some pre-term labor symptoms and all weekend long they just got worse and worse. I was trying my best to not lose my cool and jump to the worst case scenario, but by Sunday afternoon I was afraid to get off the couch and crying at the drop of a hat. I know I get a free pass on the crying thing; pregnancy births tears all nine months for me. But I was seriously losing it; all I could think was that I've already lost two babies this year, please, God, don't take this one too. And I couldn't help but wonder if we did lose this baby that maybe I am not cut out for motherhood. Just to get the drama out of the way, I went to the doctor on Monday and all the tests have come back fine- the baby is fine, maybe just having a growth spurt.
Back to the thoughts and feelings- talk about a crummy weekend! It stinks to be scared like that and to let a fear cause me to spiral down so quickly. When I think about it now, it makes me mad, although I'm not exactly sure I can put it into words. I think part of it is that I feel like I lost faith for a minute. Not faith as in I stopped believing in God or miracles or that the baby could be fine. But faith that no matter what, God's plan is the best plan there is, even if that means I lose another child. Please don't mistake me; I do not say this flippantly. Plain and simple, I can't see the outcomes when I'm living the tragedy; I have to keep the faith that there is a reason and that someday when I die and step into God's kingdom, it will all make sense. Because God really does love me and Jameson and the baby I lost and this baby growing inside of me. "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
Another thought that has really stuck with me is that at one point I told Hubs that no matter what happens, I don't think I can ever mentally handle the stress of doing this again. But that can't be true. I refuse to live with that kind of fear hanging over my head like a gauntlet ready to fall. Because life after birth is just as uncertain as life in the womb. And I don't want to go though my life worrying about whether or not Little Man's cough is a cold or something worse, or whether my headache is a brain tumor or just dehydration, or whether the reason Hubs is late is because he is delivering a baby at the hospital or he got in a car accident. Again, this goes back to the faith issue; when I take a deep breath and think about God's promises, I can have peace instead of anxiety. But this is a choice I have to make. I can choose to indulge the drama queen and freak out or I can choose to calm down and have a little faith. Most of the time, I think I'm somewhere in the middle. Because the faith thing is really, really hard sometimes, especially when something scary is happening.
I freaked out a little more than I wish I would have over the weekend and now we have enough food in our kitchen to open a small restaurant. Which is all fine and dandy; it means I have two happy guys, but it also means in another month I'm gonna have a bigger butt. I've got to say, though, those muffins are worth it.
Calling them muffins is really a stretch, too. They are more like the Juicy Lucy of cupcakes with that cream cheese frosting center. Lord almighty, I might just go have one more. There go the hips.
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