Week 5

My little sunshine,

I have known about you for just over two weeks now, and I’m still not sure if it feels real.  You aren’t physically much bigger than an appleseed, but you are the biggest, most exciting thing that has ever happened in my life.  And you pack a powerful punch–I’ve certainly already logged hours gripping toilet bowls for dear life, watching rooms spin as I nearly lose consciousness because I moved too quickly getting out of the shower, and sleeping as much as I can because if I don’t, my brain seems to switch from normal function to survival mode and the only things I can think about are peeing (every 30 minutes!), eating, and my bed.

At this point, anything could happen.  I tell myself constantly not to borrow trouble, but I’m used to being a pessimist, and when you’ve lived the amount of life that I already have, sometimes it’s hard to remember that good things can and do occur.  Every morning I wake up and I remind myself “Today I am pregnant” (and let’s be realistic–I pee on a stick to be sure, too.  I apologize in advance, because at the rate I am going, your entire wardrobe and blanket collection will be composed of cleverly weaved pregnancy test wrappers–since I’ve spent so much money on them that I probably won’t have enough left to clothe and swaddle you properly).

Anyway, you have survived nearly a month of early human development, with no complications.  All I can do is hope and pray that it continues daily and weekly and monthly until February.  I like to think that what is meant to be will be.  I’m a control freak, but sometimes it’s nice to let go and realize that I have no power–that no amount of early shopping, telling friends and family my good news, thinking and dreaming about and planning the future, etc. will change the outcome.  I’m not “jinxing” myself or you.  I am allowed to enjoy this and be excited (and I am allowed to be scared, too).

In about a week and a half, I’ll get to see you for the first time, and hopefully I’ll also get to see and hear your little heart beating.  I spend a lot of time thinking about what that’s going to be like.  I peruse the February 2019 due date clubs and see the ultrasound photos and imagine having one in my own hands…and it already brings tears to my eyes just envisioning how miraculous it will be.

I’m going to check out now–the Unisom is kicking in (here’s hoping this means more food and less nausea, dry heaving, and vomit tomorrow) but soon, I’m going to tell you about how you got here.  That’s a story for the books.

Love,

Your Incubator

 

Advertisements

Published by

Chelly

Widowed at 26. Blogging about life, death, and everything in-between. #LookTwiceSaveALife #ShareTheRoad #MotorcycleAwareness

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s