For weeks and weeks, my posts have taken a turn, heavy on the melancholy, light on the upbeat, hopeful tone of the summer.
For weeks and weeks, I’ve been lax about posting, I’ve not been present, I’ve been in a bit of a fog.
For weeks and weeks, I’ve held words in my mouth like candy, letting them melt away their sweetness, only to pour out the base tones. I’ve left out the good stuff.
For weeks and weeks, I have not been myself.
I’ve been myself…..plus one.
For weeks and weeks I’ve been pregnant.
I am currently 16 weeks pregnant, looming upon that dreaded familiar number, 17 weeks (though there are no indications that a loss is to come, this time). I am happy. And tired. And endlessly catching colds from the kids at work. And seriously lacking in sleep.
And I am happy.
And I am afraid.
And sometimes the fear is what overrides, and it’s the thing my friends and family see, prompting them to think I am not embracing this blessing. I am SO happy to have this chance, I am grateful. I go to bed each night and consciously try to recount five things from my day that I am thankful for.
Number one has been, consistently, a strong, beating heart.
At my first ultrasound, at 6 weeks, I heard the tech say to me, ‘There’s your baby, and there’s the heartbeat.’, and though I couldn’t erase the memory of my last visit, hearing the words, ‘there should be a heartbeat’, my heart itself skipped a beat, and happy tears streamed from my eyes.
I am happy. And I am scared. But I am still here, and at 16 weeks pregnant, I think I am beginning to feel the first flutters of movement. And I am clinging to each hopeful moment.
And, for weeks and weeks, I’ve been wandering through dim light, hands outstretched, knowing day is waiting outside this tunnel. For weeks and weeks, I’ve been navigating yet another unfamiliar landscape.
But, I am finding my way.
And I am clinging to hope.