I have been shovelling lately. Shovelling through heavy loads of anxiety, fear, grief, worry, and self-doubt. Just the worst of the ways you can feel I have been feeling. And been slowly working my way out of it. But the pile on top of me feels heavy today. So I'm taking a break from shovelling. I'm going to sit here. Tell you about it. Soak in it for a second. Go to bed. And wake up to start shovelling again.
About a week ago, I got sick. I've said it before, and I'll say it again now; sickness and grief are enemies. When my body physically slows down, emotions cannot be handled, and they always seem to burst forward. There were a lot of tears as I snuggled into the blankets on the couch. And I wasn't just worried about myself -- my worries began to be about this baby of ours. As my fever climbed, so did my worry. And let me tell you, it's very hard to get medical reassurance from your primary caregivers on a weekend. Even if you are a PAL mom. And especially if you haven't hit the arbitrary 20 weeks gestation mark. But we dealt with it. Mostly on our own. And my fever broke. And I began to feel better. Returned to work. All was fine.
I called my OB. We've been waiting on test results for a persistent infection. We've known about it since about 8 weeks. Though there's no telling how long I've had it. It's been treated twice, with two different medications. Nothing has cleared it. We were hopeful the last round of antibiotics worked, but it hasn't. According to my doctor. Who I had to call to find out the results today. Now, there's something to be said about the fact that she doesn't seem worried about it. In fact, I don't know very much about it at all, because she hasn't said much about it. She's explained in limited detail the "potential risk-factors." But that was mostly in passing. And now she hasn't even prescribed anything new. Just said we'd talk about it at my next appointment on Tuesday. To any "normal" person that sounds like "no big deal." To me, it's alarm bells. I don't know why exactly. But something about it just sets off all of my worry. I know nothing, and yet I worry about everything.
So tonight was my first prenatal yoga class. I thought I was excited for it. And yet, as the day wore on I felt this nagging anxiety creeping up. By the time I was in the car, on my way there, I figured it out. I figured it out as I was rehearsing my "This is actually my second baby" speech. I was willingly walking into a room full of pregnant ladies. Of course questions would be asked. And how do I answer those questions!? Usually I choke. So today I was prepared. And practicing. And then I realized: "I can't tell my story to a room full of hopeful expectant mothers?" Could I? Hell if I know. So my 15 minutes of practice went out the window as I sat in the parking lot and gave myself the "Just get in there and do this for yourself" pep talk.
At this point you can see I'm a mess.
Needless to say, I spoke to no one. No one spoke to me. I went in. I watched these pregnant ladies interact -- many seemingly comfortable with each other -- not many newbies in the group. I did my practice (which admittedly was lovely -- until meditation as always, when I broke down sobbing silently to myself). Then I drove myself home.
And I cried. I cried for worrying about my baby. I cried for missing Ryan and having to do this all again. I cried for crying about this baby at all. Because I know so many people who only want to be in my shoes. And I cried because of those moms at the yoga class. The smiles in their eyes. The 38 week woman whose baby was due "any day." Cried wondering if I still glow like they do when I talk about this baby inside me. The way I did when I talked about Ryan on the way.
I cried because as much as I try to embrace every moment with this little one, I know I'm only ever a phone call away from worry. A yoga class away from self-doubt. A tiny germ away from fear. That even though there is joy in the little things -- there's a lot of the negative too. And my last 6 days have been piled high with it.
This last week has been a reminder of my loss of innocence. And instead of playing strong, today I want to whine, and kick, and complain. And mourn my loss of innocence. Today and this week, I have not felt strong. I have felt pushed down by the weight of my loss. I've succumbed to it for the first time in a while. It sucks.
But this, too, shall pass. I guess.