Secret sickness {Backpost: written Feb 23rd, published today}

[This post was written when I was in the thick of morning sickness at the end of February. For about 5 weeks, I laid on the couch trying not to throw up. There were better days and worse days. This was on one of the better days when I felt like figuring something out, but it was so early in the pregnancy that I didn't dare post it to the blog then. I have since decided that if I ever feel this terrible again, for whatever reason, I'm not going to keep it a secret. For my family's sake, and my own sanity, I'm gonna get some help! On to the blog post:] 

I haven't been able to look a pregnant woman in the eye for a month.

One of my close friends has just given birth to her fourth and final child. I can't bring myself to visit with her for more than a few seconds. I didn't even want to see the baby. And when my friend finally took me by the hand and dragged me to the sleeping 2-week-old, I didn't dare get too close. I didn't know what to say. I knew what I *should* say. I knew what I had wanted to hear about each of my newborns. I wanted to hear how beautiful and sweet and perfect they were. I wanted everyone to adore my baby as much as I did. Looking at that baby, though, all I could feel was dread, avoidance, and the weight of responsibility that newborn life demands.

I thought about the baby I was secretly carrying, knowing that this would be my lot in 32 weeks or so.

I've been sick. Nauseous, exhausted, and even more nauseous. One day, Robert was wandering around the house in a diaper that was heavily leaking through his pants. I saw it from my perpetual bed on the couch and I didn't have the energy to change him. I literally caught myself wondering if I could just throw him in his crib as-is for his nap. I did eventually change him. It still brings tears to my eyes realizing how close I was to ignoring one of my own children's basic needs. No, my kids aren't starving. Yes, I am heavily dependent on Bobby to keep the house workable. I am tired of being so sick. Tired of having to "hide" my fragile state from friends and family because it's so early in this pregnancy and things can still go terribly wrong.

It took me a long time to be okay with the idea of having another child. After Robert's birth, my sanity depended on this mantra, "I never have to do this again." Each diaper change was one step further from the baby life and back to normalcy. There was a time last summer when I thought I might be pregnant. That was a terrifying and helpful experience at the same time. I knew I wasn't ready. And that was okay. If I never was ready again, that would be okay, too.

Then one day, several months later, Robert was 18 months old and I wanted to pray about kids again. I had decided it would be okay to try for a third child. I actually wanted one. In answer to my prayer, I felt a warm, yellow light in my mind. I was actually ready now. And that was okay, too.

The surprise was how soon that baby came. We tried for 9 months to catch Alice, then 11 months to snag our Buddy. This baby, well, caught us. And I know I'll get in trouble for saying this, but I think this one is something new. Our "please bless the baby" prayer has expanded to include the term 'a good listener, conscientious, and a peacemaker': "Please bless this baby to be healthy, strong, wise (those came from my pregnancy with Alice), valiant (my pregnancy with Buddy added this one), a good listener, conscientious, and a peacemaker." Despite the day-to-day illness and newborn adjustment/chaos/trauma to come, I'm actually looking forward to this little person joining our family in October. I want to see him/her snuggle into our family and find his/her own place here, filling out this crazy little posse of ours as we figure out life together.

[So, by the end of these ponderings, I had figured out that my avoidance of newborns and pregnant moms was because I knew how much work was ahead of me and how much that work would change my currently comfy life, routine, and personal identity. My avoidance was not a result of my feelings for the baby itself (which I had initially concluded, and dreaded, and felt guilty for). The child itself is actually a welcome addition to my life. I feel ready for this new person. I'm just dreading the prenatal/newborn gauntlet from now until 18 months of age :D and that's okay, too.]