Statistics say that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. It’s a daunting figure that leads to cautious excitement. I’m thrilled to be expecting, but, what if …
And then the demons enter to manifest my crazy pregnancy hormones into an onslaught of fear and worry. And it’s ugly. And sad. And leaves me almost pushing away from the bond I so desperately want to build with my tiny baby.
Fear plagued me most when I was pregnant with Jemma. Dominic was working away from home 4 days a week and often throughout my first trimester I’d call him crying at night. He could rarely understand my whimpering and incoherent thoughts, but he listened and did his best to calm my worries. With Max, I was more distracted. I didn’t even find out I was pregnant until I was 9 weeks and the rest of those early days flew by since I had Jemma to care for.
This time is different though. Perhaps third time’s a charm. Maybe I’m wiser, smarter. Definitely older. Most likely, given a gift from God to embrace peace and shun fear. This is what I’ve decided — If I’m pregnant for 10 more hours or 100 more days or if my baby is born and grows to live 10 years on earth or 100 on top of that, this little life is precious. In every stage, at every moment. He or she is priceless and a wonderful blessing to our family. No hope or worry, nothing I control, will change the Lord’s plan for this little one. Becoming a mom has taught me to both hold tight and let go. And so, each day, that’s what I aim to do.
Those blasted little demons of fear and worry? They still float about, but they know I don’t want them to be part of my pregnancy memories and so for the most part, they stay away. They haven’t earned their place and they aren’t welcome. I’ve kicked them out, sent them on their way and each moment choose to think only happy thoughts.