Monday, February 08, 2010


I've come to hate it when I suspect that I'm pregnant. For one, most times I'm not pregnant. Secondly, if I happen to be pregnant, the chances of me actually keeping the baby are slim to none. I almost wonder if I'd rather be one of those women that doesn't know she's pregnant and then one day goes in to the ER and gives birth. But that wouldn't be right either, because one part that I miss the most (besides holding my own baby in my arms) is experiencing a baby growing inside me. To feel the moving, kicking, even the morning sickness, heartburn, and constant bathroom trips. I want to feel fat (but I think pregnant women are so beautiful), and uncomfortable. I even (I know I'm nuts) want to experience labor and the birth of my own baby. I know, most women who have had babies that might be reading this will tell me I'm nuts. Ok, I admit it, I'm totally and completely crazy. Anyway, I just had to share these thoughts because they were on my mind.

I've been doing good with being content, though. I have my few moments when I see a pregnant woman, or see a woman with a tiny baby, or hear of someone who just got pregnant. But those moments are fewer and farther between than they used to be. I'm able to rejoice with a new mother, instead of avoid her and cry alone. That in itself is major progress. I can even pass by an anniversary date (of the death or what was supposed to be a due date) and I don't always cry myself to sleep, or lock myself in my house. I've come so far in the 5 1/2 years that I've been trying to have a baby. And I give all the credit to my precious Lord, who has never left my side.

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