I’m pregnant. And it’s confusing.

Husband-Man and I are expecting our first baby. We’re thrilled, and I’ve felt every since emotion that  knew existed and more since I found out on Valentine’s Day this year.

This is new territory for me. This is terrifying territory, to be honest.

Brave

I’m elated. I’ve wanted this for as long as I knew what a “mom” was. I have longed and wept for this. I have prayed for it and prayed for it.

I’m scared. I don’t know if I can handle the responsibility of raising a child. I don’t know if I can get up in the night with a tiny human and be one-half of their parents. I still feel sixteen inside. How can I adequately love and train a little?

I’m hesitant. I don’t know what I’m doing. Why did God let me get pregnant? Does He really know what He’s doing? I mean, sometimes I forget to brush my own teeth. And to feed my fish.

I’m selfish. My body has already started to change. Several sweet friends have asked if I have a “bump” yet. Up until this past weekend, it’s been a pudge. Pure and simple. I’ve just looked like I’ve eaten too many burgers. (Burgers sound really good right now.) And I’m embarrassed. Today, maybe it looks like there’s a baby in there instead of just too much food. But I’ve always struggled with my weight. It’s difficult to transition to a place where mentally gaining weight isn’t a negative thing.

I’m resentful that I am not the only inhabitant of my body anymore. It’s very difficult to wrap my mind around. I’m an introvert. And I’m not alone. I have a human inside of me that is using my nutrients and my blood and my body as its home. That kind of weirds me out to be honest.

I feel guilty. I know so many people so struggle to conceive or who have lost their little ones. Why me? How can I hold so much excitement and joy inside coupled with such grief for others? I’m ashamed that I have any negative emotions. Deeply ashamed.

I’m tired. Until a few weeks ago, I was bone-weary. I was as tired as I was when my gallbladder stopped working entirely. I didn’t think I could make it through a work week, much less nine months. Thankfully, I’ve had a little bit more energy recently.

I’m shocked. I’m shocked that not all of the emotions that I’ve carried with me are positive. I’m embarrassed that I’ve felt negative and confusing emotions instead of floating around on a happy “pregnancy cloud” that I always imagined that I would live on while pregnant.

I don’t know if I can physically do this again, and I’m only 1/3 of the way done. For the first three months, I thought for sure that I would die before I felt any better. As I alluded to above, I had gallbladder issues about three years ago and I had mine removed, and the first two months of my pregnancy were plagued by gastrointestinal distress, dehydration, lack of sleep because of pain in my guts, and nausea. And I work full time. How do women do this when they have other children to take care of? For over a month, I didn’t work a full work week because I woke up feeling very poorly by the time the middle of the week came around.

Why am I telling you this? Because it’s my mess. It’s my heart. I feel unsure and excited and I don’t want to hide it, because that’s lying.

Are you surprised that I have had so many struggles with my emotions about something that I longed for for so long? Me too. But I’m not going to lie to you. I’m pretty sure that if I feel this, someone else does too. Maybe more than someone else.

I choose to trust God that He knows what He’s doing. I mean, from what we know, He chose a single teenager to raise His son. He knows what He’s doing. And He’s big enough to handle my mess. And He’s big enough to handle yours. Even if it’s unexpected. And even if it’s a complicated package of emotions that you never expected.

Results

This post is part of the 31 Days Writing Challenge, in which a group of writers post a piece every day for the month of October. Want to read all of my posts in this series? Click here

On Fridays this month, I’ll be telling the story of Husband-Mans journey through illness this year. This post is about our struggle with test results.

After three months of tests and agony, Husband-Man started getting phone calls from staff at his specialist’s office. One nurse called and said that his test indicated that he didn’t have autoimmune hepatitis, so we went in for another (much less painful) test. After the easier test (an endoscopy where Husband-Man was put to sleep before they scoped his insides), he got a phone call from another nurse that he had autoimmune hepatitis and that he needed to start treatment immediately. And the nurse calling didn’t know why he had been giving conflicting reports, so she couldn’t tell us what was going on. And she took a message for the doctor, but he didn’t call back.

Husband-Man didn’t know what to do. We had spent so much time waiting for news, but the news we were getting didn’t make sense. We had a diagnosis, but we didn’t know where it had come from. And we couldn’t get to the source. We couldn’t get to the doctor. Husband-Man called and left messages for the doctor, and the doctor would call back when he was asleep. And when Husband-Man would call back, the doctor wouldn’t be available.

So, Husband-Man scheduled an appointment. And he found out that on a scale of 1-4 (4 being the worst damage that can be done to your liver and 3.2 being irreversible damage), the damage to his liver was a 3. He found out the the second test was to rule out another possible condition that could have done so much damage to his liver, and that there was no sign of the other condition. He found out that they only way to know for sure was to begin treatment and see if the markers in his blood indicated that the swelling in his liver had decreased.

So, we got a diagnosis. And the diagnosis was “wait and see”. I wanted to curl up and cry. So I did. Why was God making us wait so long? Why couldn’t we just have definitive news and have the opportunity to deal with it?

But, with the diagnosis came treatment. And the treatment reduced the swelling of his liver. And slowly, my husband started eating again, feeling like moving, and turning back to his normal skin tone. And eventually the diagnosis of “most likely autoimmune hepatitis” became “almost sure autoimmune hepatitis”.

Day 24

Have you ever waited for some major event and found out that it was just another step towards more waiting? How did you react?