A lot has happened since last Sunday. The nausea and many other symptoms have settled in, our precious friends have lost the twins they were supposed to adopt, and another precious friend of mine has miscarried a baby. And then there’s the baby girl from our church community who has just been diagnosed with a fatal genetic disease. Why is there all this suffering and bereavement? And will we ever get to see you?
As much as that question has played a part in these last couple weeks, I’m settling into the “expecting” side of all this, and not worrying as much. Most of the time I just feel yucky. Your daddy is a champion. I almost never let him kiss me properly anymore, and I can’t bury my head in his chest because what used to be my favorite smell of all—him!—makes my stomach churn. I get frustrated that I’m a bad wife, but he loves me so well anyway. He’s always picking up the house, doing the dishes, rubbing my feet after work… The beautiful thing about these days is that all it takes to look past the “yucky” is seeing a baby or a young child while I’m walking through town or getting groceries. Then I can picture you, and picture us with you, and I just get happy and excited and feel that all this is worth it.
The other night we curled up to watch a movie and got distracted by a conversation about names. At this point we’re assuming you’re a boy. It’s so funny how adamant Daddy is about it. WHY would I be bringing up girls’ names!? I just tell him I’ll laugh when you turn out to be a girl. That will be so fun to find out. It’ll be just before Thanksgiving.
You have turned me into an enormous food fussy, and the Black List is different every day. I’ve been eating more yogurt than every other food put together. But today I’m pretty sure the stuff would make me gag. All complaining aside, I am very aware of God’s blessing on this pregnancy, which came so unexpected on the eve of beginning a rigorous, unforgiving work schedule of manual labor. I’m not confined to my bed, and as queasy as I’ve been feeling, rarely do I actually feel like I’m going to throw up, and then it subsides within a few minutes. I am really trying to work on using the weakness that’s come with these weeks to draw close to God, praying for strength and peace and contentment and perspective; and I’m trying to kill the sin of complaining and grumbling.
One of my best friends from college is coming for dinner tonight after a year in Germany. We’re excited to tell her and her boyfriend about you. She’s bringing wine to go with dinner, and I have to admit that’s been one of my biggest gripes with pregnancy. I miss wine. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if I didn’t work in a shop that serves it! They all look so good. It’s not unlikely that there won’t be many months in the next fifteen years that I can drink alcohol. Oh, the injustice! You’re going to make it all worthwhile, right?