Regardless of how excited I was to be pregnant again, it felt better to keep it a secret until I could no longer hide it. I was fearful of spreading the word too soon… while possibly misscarrying like I did the last time. As my head descended into my pillow each night, I was thankful for making it through another day without seeing blood. But no matter how many times I told myself that I’d be okay, I dreaded going to the bathroom. My mind made up tons of scenarios and used them against me. But when I didn’t see what I had expected, a huge wave of relief lifted over me and I felt normal again. As much as I envisioned that normal feeling to stick around, it was likely that my worries would return within minutes… and they always did.
Finding the strength to eat was more of a need than a want. My appetite had vanished in the early weeks of finding out that I wasn’t just taking care of myself anymore. My stomach was only able to tolerate fruit, which so happened to be my only craving. But even then I was hesitant in taking bites of something that I knew would make its way back up. With the little information that I had, I was certain that if I didn’t eat… the baby didn’t eat either. I was forcing myself to sit during meals, even through the gagging and tears that I couldn’t hold back. It was only a matter of time before the anxieties corrupted what I thought was a mind of my own. But it remained clear that despite my attempts in trying to fight them off, they always channeled their way back in. There was so much about ME that was rapidly changing. I needed to find myself before my sanity would no longer be within reach.
With little to no appetite, I found difficulty in ignoring a hungers call. My empty stomach echoed its cries for something to get by. The energy I lacked left me cornered on the couch waiting to feel whole again. I couldn’t do this alone… I needed my family. I desperately wanted to be asked how I was doing, only to send signals that I was barely taking care of myself and my baby. I didn’t know the ins and outs of pregnancy… I had no experience in the weeks beyond six. If I was surrounded by those who knew how to diminish what took leadership over me, I could finally feel like I was meant to be a mom. A great one at that.
A rainy day was upon us as we sat and shuffled through the TV guide. Something had just clicked… it was time to go home. Our belongings were scattered in rooms and our toothbrushes were in plain view, but we weren’t home. We were so far from where we came from and allowed the confusion to set in. I was anxious to pull down the lever and escape to a reality I was used to. My imagination played with me as I thought of the long drive ahead of us. I felt the bed beneath my tired body… our bed, our room, our place to welcome a new baby. It was finally all coming together.
We packed our bags and shoved them in our car the same day we decided to leave. Our tv was bubble wrapped and stuffed into the back seat. There was no more time to waste. The rain didn’t stop us from returning to where we were meant to be. As I strapped myself in the passenger seat, I glanced at where we spent nights gazing at the stars… pouring our hearts out after a disagreement that left us wondering where we would end. At that time, we truly thought it was the end…
Only to know now, that it was just the beginning.