It's been quiet in this space for a couple weeks, ever since I wrote about the Sunflower. I'm now 14 wks and 1 day. It's not that I don't have things to say. It's that I don't quite know how to say them.
My wise therapist pointed out last week that I seem to be doing a lot of self-censoring. And the end result is that it's only making me more anxious all of the time. I don't want to talk too much about this pregnancy to other babylost mamas unless they are also pregnant or already had their "rainbow baby" after a loss. I don't want to talk to non-babylost pregnant ladies about all the fears about this pregnancy that chatter away in my mind. In general it just seems like everyone in the non-babylost world is so much more excited and so much more sure that all will turn out ok, than I could ever possibly be--and I don't want to tell them that either. This leaves me with way too much time on my own in my own head.
My intent in this pregnancy has always been to be as present as possible in the renewed hope, joy and love that the Sunflower has brought. I gave Ezra so much love as he grew inside my belly, the Sunflower deserves the same. Indeed, the hope, joy and love is there every day. But these beautiful emotions sit alongside something else that was never present when I was pregnant with Ezra:
There's not a day that goes by that I don't wonder if this baby isn't already dead. Even though I'm starting to feel little flutters of movement. Each twinge or unexplained pain makes me imagine I'm miscarrying or going into labor. Even though I had all those same random twinges and pains while pregnant with Ezra. Although I'm beginning to show, I worry the baby isn't growing enough. My mind wanders to every possible thing that could already be wrong...congenital deformities, genetic disorders...
I wish there was an off switch for my mind. The constant negative chatter is really getting to me.
I really don't want to be THIS pregnant lady. The one filled with constant worry and fear. I miss the OLD pregnant me.
The one who positively glowed through every day of the 33 weeks and 5 days I got to carry Ezra. Nobody could wipe the grin off my face.
The one who practically skipped around town with her ever-growing belly. Even the morning of the day he died, I joyfully walked on my own to the hospital.
The one who gleefully announced she was pregnant to large audiences before sitting down in a chair to teach or train in those final months. I don't even want to tell people I'm pregnant this time round.
The one who never even realized there were so many many things to be scared about while pregnant. And now I'm scared of them all. Every single thing that could go wrong. Not just what happened to Ezra.
I wish I could have just a little of the old pregnant me back. I miss her.
the Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer