It is, in a word, terrifying. I think being pregnant again may be the hardest thing I've ever done. That's not to say that I'm not excited or happy, it's just no longer carefree.
When I was pregnant with Annalee, everything was so easy. I was that woman- the one who had a textbook pregnancy and loved every minute of it. I don't want to say that I was naive- I was aware of what could happen- I just never thought it would happen to me. This time around is completely different. Now I'm that woman. The one who worries about everything. In the early days, I was scared to sneeze. Every twinge, cramp and disappearing pregnancy symptom spelled disaster. I hate that the first place my mind goes now is tragedy. I'm only just coming around to the idea that this could really happen for us. In 7 weeks, we could actually be holding our healthy baby. Just when I get comfortable with that thought, this little one will grow or sleep and won't move for 20 minutes and I'm straight back into panic mode.
Of course it's natural to worry after a loss, but I think so much of my stress comes from not knowing what happened to Annalee. Whatever did happen also seemed to take place during the night, so now, it would seem I've trained my brain to wake up every couple of hours and not go back to sleep until I've felt the baby. This poor kid is constantly being poked and prodded until it gives me a little nudge to let me know it's okay.
Then there's the stress of the effects of my stress on the baby. It's a horrible cycle. All I can do is hope that there are enough happy and calm moments to make up for the ones that aren't.
Again, none of this means that I'm not excited. It's like I'm two different people. One is a grieving mom who is still so heartbroken and feels hopeless. The other is hopeful and optimistic and full of happy pregnancy hormones, eagerly waiting the arrival of her baby. And all day, every day, I just go back and forth.
Seven. More. Weeks.