The oddly surreal reality of you...
I think the disappointment has been too often and too great to truly appreciate the reality that is my life...at this very moment.
I am currently 7 weeks and 6 days pregnant. Pregnant...huh...pregnant... I still can't wrap my conscious brain around that word. I am...blank. I have no words, really. I am scared. I am worried. I am nervous. I am ecstatic. I am pregnant. I am pregnant!
It was March 13th that Tom flew. It was that day, your dad lost the one man who meant the world to him. I am so glad you didn't have to witness the pain he went through. Granted, I wish you could have met your grandfather, but it was hard to witness. I felt out of place. I left like I couldn't fix the heartache. It threw me back to when I lost your uncle Andy.
When we found out your grandpa was sick and had stage 4 lung cancer, my desire for you became so much stronger. I wanted him to hold you just once. One time if possible. If only to take the mundane and scariness of waiting to die away.
And as month after month continued to arrive and time after time I continued to bleed my last vestige of hope began to crack...to fade. And I resolved to never be pregnant, or that perhaps it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe your dad and I couldn't get pregnant. There were many times I was assuming it just wasn't supposed to happen.
It was one of the first things I talked about with your dad after the dust settled. I asked if he was mad. Upset. Angry. I asked if not giving his father a baby would make him bitter. He denied it straight away. I mean we had been trying for almost 3 years. Month in and month out a burden of emptiness I carried as friend after friend and family after family member continued to have beautiful babies...your dad and I sat on the sidelines tear-streaked cheeked, silently-broken, encouraging all those little ones and their families. I think we waited there just hoping you would show up.
It was March 19th that we said our last goodbyes to Tom, your grandfather. We did our best to work around the world as she lay with the ever growing corona virus and the limitations set upon our world as we knew it. Things were different. We couldn't go where we wanted, we had to be ever mindful of what we touched and who touched us.
That week was a blur. Family came in and out of the house and we just tried to make it through each waking hour without breaking down with the cold reality of not having your grandpa around anymore.
That week was a special one for me and your dad. Although never strangers to sex and all it entails, we came together in a more surreal sort of way. Our love making was full of passion and sadness and pain and the need to be comforted, and I remember every piece of it. He held me as though to never allow me to leave or be away. I gave him parts of my heart that perhaps I couldn't with words.
And in the midst of that beauty, you happened. Huh... Just like that. You began. At the end of your grandpa's story, your's started. Life is like that, right? Oddly cyclical?
April 13th: exactly a month later we found out that your life had begun. I had a hunch a few days before I took my official test, but I was just too nervous to experience another round of disappointment, so I waited until the last moment to take it.
Wanna know something funny? I took the test at work. 930AM, in the front bathroom. I peed in a coffee cup and dipped the stick in...heart pounding. I didn't even have enough time to dump the pee, wipe, stand up, and flush before that little blue cross showed up. Quicker than the negative line ever had. You announced yourself quickly.
And now you and I have a solid 32 weeks left before we actually meet. I do look forward to that time. Your father can't stop beaming. And, if at times if seems like I am not excited to meet you...just know that as quickly as you announced yourself, I don't want you to disappear. So, I am the ever cautious one. I will spend the next 32 weeks trying to not fill myself with fear. But, you will learn that in time.
I so look forward to growing older with you. Here is to our beginning... 'til we meet.
I am currently 7 weeks and 6 days pregnant. Pregnant...huh...pregnant... I still can't wrap my conscious brain around that word. I am...blank. I have no words, really. I am scared. I am worried. I am nervous. I am ecstatic. I am pregnant. I am pregnant!
It was March 13th that Tom flew. It was that day, your dad lost the one man who meant the world to him. I am so glad you didn't have to witness the pain he went through. Granted, I wish you could have met your grandfather, but it was hard to witness. I felt out of place. I left like I couldn't fix the heartache. It threw me back to when I lost your uncle Andy.
When we found out your grandpa was sick and had stage 4 lung cancer, my desire for you became so much stronger. I wanted him to hold you just once. One time if possible. If only to take the mundane and scariness of waiting to die away.
And as month after month continued to arrive and time after time I continued to bleed my last vestige of hope began to crack...to fade. And I resolved to never be pregnant, or that perhaps it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe your dad and I couldn't get pregnant. There were many times I was assuming it just wasn't supposed to happen.
It was one of the first things I talked about with your dad after the dust settled. I asked if he was mad. Upset. Angry. I asked if not giving his father a baby would make him bitter. He denied it straight away. I mean we had been trying for almost 3 years. Month in and month out a burden of emptiness I carried as friend after friend and family after family member continued to have beautiful babies...your dad and I sat on the sidelines tear-streaked cheeked, silently-broken, encouraging all those little ones and their families. I think we waited there just hoping you would show up.
It was March 19th that we said our last goodbyes to Tom, your grandfather. We did our best to work around the world as she lay with the ever growing corona virus and the limitations set upon our world as we knew it. Things were different. We couldn't go where we wanted, we had to be ever mindful of what we touched and who touched us.
That week was a blur. Family came in and out of the house and we just tried to make it through each waking hour without breaking down with the cold reality of not having your grandpa around anymore.
That week was a special one for me and your dad. Although never strangers to sex and all it entails, we came together in a more surreal sort of way. Our love making was full of passion and sadness and pain and the need to be comforted, and I remember every piece of it. He held me as though to never allow me to leave or be away. I gave him parts of my heart that perhaps I couldn't with words.
And in the midst of that beauty, you happened. Huh... Just like that. You began. At the end of your grandpa's story, your's started. Life is like that, right? Oddly cyclical?
April 13th: exactly a month later we found out that your life had begun. I had a hunch a few days before I took my official test, but I was just too nervous to experience another round of disappointment, so I waited until the last moment to take it.
Wanna know something funny? I took the test at work. 930AM, in the front bathroom. I peed in a coffee cup and dipped the stick in...heart pounding. I didn't even have enough time to dump the pee, wipe, stand up, and flush before that little blue cross showed up. Quicker than the negative line ever had. You announced yourself quickly.
And now you and I have a solid 32 weeks left before we actually meet. I do look forward to that time. Your father can't stop beaming. And, if at times if seems like I am not excited to meet you...just know that as quickly as you announced yourself, I don't want you to disappear. So, I am the ever cautious one. I will spend the next 32 weeks trying to not fill myself with fear. But, you will learn that in time.
I so look forward to growing older with you. Here is to our beginning... 'til we meet.
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