Too Hot To Sleep

I feel stable today. I'm not better from this downswing yet, but I am feeling pretty stable. I'm able to feel, which is a huge difference from numbing myself from all feeling whatsoever.

I've been thinking about this pregnancy quite a bit. I haven't really told anyone these thoughts except Daniel. He's so trustworthy when it comes to my feelings. He never looks at me with a stunned or horrified expression when I tell him things. He never laughs, unless I'm trying to be funny, of course. He has been my anchor, and I love him very much for that.

When I first found out about the pregnancy, you'd think that I'd be jumping for joy and going crazy, right? I mean, we'd been trying for a while, told I would be incapable of conceiving without the help of fertility treatments, and had pretty much given up for the time being. I felt very uncomfortable with the idea of fertility treatments since there is no guarentee that they will work. We couldn't afford them yet anyway, but I really didn't like the idea of forcing my body to done something it seems unwilling to do. I had graciously accepted that pregnancy would probably never be part of my life. We had talked about having kids, and together decided that adoption was a miracle and wonderful option for us when we were more stable financially. Getting pregnant seemed like the answer to our prayers.

In reality, I took two pregnancy tests, and didn't believe the results of either. A third pregnancy test confirmed Anya's existence to me. While Daniel beamed with happiness, lavishing me with love and attention in excitement for having a child, I retreated into myself. I didn't smile for the first couple of weeks. Part of me didn't want a baby right now. A bigger part of me knew the pain of losing a baby, and I knew that my body had a good chance of rejecting the pregnancy. I kept thinking, "Why be happy for something that's either already dead or will be in a week or so?"

It's not that I didn't want her at all. I found out a few days before the Spring Semester started, and was worried that I'd have to withdraw if I miscarried or, if by some miracle kept the baby through the first trimester, was too sick to go to school. Mostly, I didn't want to have to put my life on hiatus because of some depression-triggering, traumatic event.

Every time I went to the bathroom, I expected to see blood. Every time I went to the bathroom, though, there wasn't any. Then I went in for a 7-week ultrasound. I knew they would find something wrong, give me the sympathetic look, and tell me, "I'm sorry..." However, something else happened. I saw Anya's heartbeat. It was strong and healthy. I didn't want to let myself feel any relief, but there she was, seemingly happy in her water-balloon of a home.

Three weeks later, the doctor told us she was perfectly healthy at 10 weeks. Her heartbeat was strong, and she was growing at a very normal rate. I didn't want to tell anyone until our 20 week ultrasound, just to make sure everything was still fine at that time, but Daniel was bursting at the seams with excitement, and told friends and family the second his persistence at wearing me down on that one paid off.

I didn't feel anything toward her besides a respect for her life, and a worry that I would do something to jeopardize that life. I wasn't excited, though. I didn't really look at baby items and squeal for some time. I didn't really talk to her or have Daniel feel my belly unless he wanted to. I went to school, did my homework, threw up a lot, and tried not to think about the future. I didn't talk to anyone about my fears and doubts concerning pregnancy, since I was afraid of being scrutinized by the only people I had to talk to. If I imagined talking about this, I saw them saying, "Why would you not want a baby? You should feel ______" I didn't want my feelings brushed aside. I wanted someone to hold me and say, "I understand how you feel. I'll help you as much as I can."

I felt guilty and sad about the pregnancy. I felt guilty because of how almost indifferent I felt toward my child. I felt sad because I felt as if I had once again lost control of my life.

Today, my mind keeps circling around the beginning of my pregnancy. I feel better about the pregnancy itself now, and actually just want to hold my little lady, count her fingers and toes, stroke her soft skin, and fall in love with that fact that she's mine. Before, I didn't feel good. Maybe I feel guilty for not being excited for her. My reasoning makes sense, and if someone else were in my shoes, I'd probably say that the feelings they had are normal, and that it's okay to feel that way, knowing how viable the pregnancy could be. I don't think I have a need to forgive myself since, honestly, I don't feel that I've done anything wrong.

Maybe my fear and sadness now lie in the fact that I feel the need to have others forgive me. This seems totally ridiculous now that I'm saying it, but it may very well be the thing plaguing my mind right now. I love being LDS, but sometimes LDS culture can seem very closed-minded. I'm afraid that my LDS friends and relatives will think I committed some "great sin." Whether or not they think that doesn't really matter in the long run. I don't go to church just to see friends. I go to church because I feel it inspires me to come closer to the Lord. I guess I just don't want to deal with the looks that people may or may not be giving me. (I say that since I know the looks can be completely in my head.) I guess I want to be accepted for who I am, no strings attached. I'm afraid of people, but maybe that's why I feel I'm not accepted. Maybe I assume they will reject me, so I reject them before they reject me. I am who I am, and I know that Jesus loves me. I know that my husband loves me for who I am, everything about me inclusive.

I think that's why I wanted to blog tonight. I wanted to lay a piece of me out on the table as it is, and let people think what they want about me. I wanted to say, "screw it to feeling scared about what other people think." I don't like having skeletons in the closet. They take up too much space.