“Congratulations!”

“What a blessing!”

“It’s meant to be! God doesn’t give you more than you can handle!”

Yeesh.

It’s been almost 2 months since I found out about our impending Wee Thing and what a ride it’s been! I’d say that if we’re going by the stages of grief, I’ve been working my way through denial, anger and grief.  The question, “how’re you feeling?” elicits a perfect combined response in me of 1) “I feel like crap, how the hell do you THINK I feel?”, 2) “Please let’s just not talk about it and gee, look over there! Dust bunnies!”and finally 3) “Oh god, why did you have to bring it up? I need to go cry in a dark place now”.

As much as I appreciate all the attempts to put a bright spin on this unexpected baby, I’m just not there yet. Reality? Ok, yeah, I’ve come to accept that much. Christmas miracle, child of destiny gifted to me from on high? Ummm… no. I don’t go in for “meant to be”. Free will and chance rule the world, bad AND good things happen to bad AND good people and it’s got nothing to do with some massive puppeteer.  Stuff just happens. The trick is how you handle it.

 I’m working on that bit. 

However, as the worst nausea seems to be letting up, with it goes some of my bitterest feelings and fears. Three kids will definitely be a challenge, but you know what? I think I’ll do ok. I can learn to maneuver a minivan (probably). The grocery store will be a trick, but I’ll figure it out. (On a side note, one of my favorite things I’ve heard is how easy it will be with the baby because Anna’s starting kindergarten in the fall and will practically not exist. She’s going to school part of the day, my friends, not getting her own apartment. I will still have three children.) The hardest part to come to terms with is what this does to my life, long term. MY life, not the family, not my husband, not even my kids, just ME.

Everything’s on hold again, everything’s set back. That famed Next Phase of motherhood where independence and personal goals would become more attainable… that’s all going to have to wait. Starting over again is a real blow. The spectre of a relapse of PPD in subsequent pregnancies is a documented reality.  We are trying not to focus on it too much while at the same time making sure to take necessary steps to be prepared, but it still kind of sucks to have it be an issue again at all. I like my psychiatrist and all, but I was happy with seeing him once or twice a year as opposed to the every 4-6 weeks he’s recommended starting in my third trimester.

But I’m not so angry anymore (except when I have to get up and put on the super-stretchy pants).  Maybe I’ve moved on to acceptance? It is exciting to think about a baby. The girls are thrilled and that is contagious. While Christmas shopping I wandered through the baby clothes section at Target and felt giddy at the tiny cuteness of it all. At night I fall asleep with my hands resting on the growing curve of my belly. It’s getting easier to see what I’m gaining instead of just what I’m losing. I’m really looking forward to that moment when I can feel that baby move, as if to say, ”hello, we’re gonna be just fine. See? KICK!”.

Until then, I think I’ve got bargaining to work through. However, if this case it’s working in my favor… “OK, well, if I really am going to do this thing, then it’s ok for me to eat this huge bowl of french fries, right? If I have to wear stretchy pants, anyway, I mean…”

Maybe that’s the real Christmas miracle here– finding out that it isn’t all quite so desperate as it seemed.

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