Do You Believe in Magic?

If you've been following my blogs for a few years now, you may remember this one in which I found out my little sister was pregnant, and I spent a good deal of it crying because it was supposed to be me, and because she wasn't ready, and because God had gotten it wrong. I wrote at the very end that God works in very mysterious ways and if I had known just how mysterious He really operates, I might not have spent the last two and a half years fretting whether or not I'd ever have children. I would have just quit my job, or done something equally life-altering and terrifying.

On July 2, 2009--two days after being laid off--I discovered I'm pregnant.

Jon and I are both ecstatic despite the circumstances. When you've been trying to have a baby for 3 years, with no luck, you can't be too picky about the surrounding dilemmas when it finally does happen. I've also spent the last 3 years calming myself with words such as, "God will let it happen when it's supposed to happen," and who I am to accuse God of getting it wrong twice? Apparently, it was supposed to happen now--I don't know why just yet--but we'll make it work somehow.

I'm only 2 months along and I've lived in constant fear of a miscarriage. I'm afraid it might permanently break me to have finally made it this far only to see it slip away due to no fault of my own. I've made drastic changes to my life, even in just the last 2 weeks, to be more accommodating for this baby, and I really hope I've done enough.

The scariest moment thus far had to have been last Saturday morning when I woke up feeling exceptionally well. I wasn't nauseous, my boobs weren't sore, my head wasn't pounding, and I wasn't starving. I woke up feeling perfectly normal--more specifically--I didn't feel pregnant. I was convinced--so convinced that I had Jon convinced--that I was going to miscarry at any moment and life would never be the same again.

I spent the next two days crying sporadically and asking God why He got his kicks from beating me while I was already down. I mean, seriously, I don't have a job anymore and I'm pregnant? Why force me to come to terms with such a frightening situation--get me excited for it even--and then take it all away at the drop of a hat? I was very, very angry with Him in case you haven't noticed. But then everything changed on Monday when my little sister and I went out to lunch together and I almost vomited in her car afterward. Suddenly I felt like my new self again. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with the feeling of pregnancy and the assurance that everything would be okay. I quickly began apologizing profusely to God.

It felt like years had passed, but Tuesday (yesterday) finally rolled around and Jon and I were off for our first prenatal appointment. I had trouble sleeping I was so anxiously awaiting the moment I could see our tiny blob on the ultrasound monitor and the flicker of the baby's little heartbeat.

The appointment lasted nearly 3 hours. We provided our family medical history, had dozens upon dozens of questions answered (and they weren't even phased by my symptoms randomly disappearing and reappearing) and finally we got to the ultrasound. When the technician zoomed-in and pointed out the tiny heartbeat I heard Jon suck in a huge breath. I realized two things at that moment: he'd been scared, really, really scared about what we would find, and he was hiding it from me/for me, and I also understood that he finally realized what was happening--it was finally official--he acknowledged that he was going to be a dad with that sharp intake of breath. It was quite possibly the most magical moment of my life thus far.

I'm 8 weeks along. 4 more weeks and my chance of miscarriage drastically declines although I'm not so afraid anymore. I'm pretty sure I know how to do this now. I'm pretty sure I know what this baby needs in order to survive: it simply needs to me to calm down, be healthy, and enjoy the marvelous ride. My due date is February 22, 2010, 6 days before my 28th birthday, which means its entirely possible I will share a birthday with my first born child. It also means Jon has finally found a birthday gift for me that is larger--oh, so much larger--than our house.