Irony is a 4-Letter Word…

… And that word is “baby.” The Southern Mrs. is now also the Southern Mama.

For almost 2 weeks now, I have been trying to write this post. The words don’t come easily to me, at least not yet. But the long and short of the story is that God has a sense of humor. Because almost 2 weeks ago, I found out that I’m pregnant. Right after I wrote the post (in tears) about how badly I wanted a child.

I was so convinced it wouldn’t come easily for us. PCOS can be a cruel mistress, and I had been assured by the doctor who diagnosed me 5 years ago that I would not get pregnant on my own. When we heard the news that we were expecting, my gut reaction, of course, was shock and awe. How great our God is! How wonderful is the work of His hands! But even in its wonder, we are not yet in the clear. I found out I was pregnant because I had to go to the ER with severe abdominal pain and vomiting. I had a very bad UTI, but also, they couldn’t find the baby on the ultrasound. We were terrified. The ER doctor was cold and threw around words like “ectopic” and “chemical pregnancy” as if they weren’t daggers into our hearts. For this child, we have prayed…

So, here’s where we stand today. My beta HCG is rising appropriately for a viable pregnancy. My progesterone is a hair lower than we’d like. I have been poked and prodded for the last 2 weeks, but hopefully we will get to go in for an ultrasound within the next week or so to see our little bean, and hopefully see a heartbeat as well.

It is still so early, though. I am a scientist by profession, and the numbers are both a comfort and a curse. The rate of miscarriage in the first trimester is X and drops to Y after you’ve seen a heartbeat, but none of that matters when it might be your baby that’s lost. The pain that first sent me to the ER has not fully subsided, either. It is period cramps on steroids, plus a knife in my lower back. The pain wakes me up at night, and sometimes during the day, it incapacitates me. I have never been pregnant before, so everything is a reason for concern that the baby isn’t okay. So, I do what I can – I limit/avoid caffeine, I don’t lift anything heavy, I try to eat and rest enough. But mostly, I worry and I pray. Brian hates it; he doesn’t like the idea that he can’t help at all. He wants to do something, anything, to know we are going to be okay. So he does what he can – he helps me with chores, carries the groceries, and brings me a damp washcloth when morning sickness finds me. But mostly, he worries and he prays.

I am trying my best to find the joy and the excitement in this special time, and not allow the anxiety to dull the sparkle. Clearly, The Lord has a plan for us. We will just have to be patient and trusting in the meantime.


2 thoughts on “Irony is a 4-Letter Word…

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