That's actually a couple of things I haven't done in a long, long time. I've ignored the narrator in my head that used to dictate what and when to write. And I've set aside the little melodies tumbling around inside my skull.
Other things have taken their place. Not the least of which is the fact that I am eight months pregnant. So many thoughts go through my head daily about my pregnancy, my baby, my family. I am overjoyed about having another baby. I have waited for this angel to enter our lives for a lot of years. Even in the earlier years after I had B, when time seemed to speed past me, and I didn't feel like I was ready for another baby, I always knew that, eventually, I would want more. Then, when I finally made that decision, with my husband, to invite another spirit into our family, I was thrust into a whirlwind of health problems that ultimately led me to believe that there would be no more babies. I was devastated. We looked, very seriously, into adoption. We started saving our pennies. And I asked my doctor every month, at each appointment, if the prognosis had changed about me being able to get pregnant. He explained the risks of my illness, of passing the disease on to my baby, and of the health risks to me, especially after radiation.
Then, miraculously (and I attribute this to my discovery of essential oils), my hormone levels improved, stabilized, and my doctor told me that the risks had been reduced significantly. He gave me the go ahead to start trying. My husband and I discussed it again, focusing a lot on the my tendency to have post partum depression. It was so bad the last three times, it was terrifying. What if one more baby is the one thing that sends me over the edge? What if I end up being the crazy mom who drowns all of her kids? This was one major issue we weren't willing to overlook. I prayed. Harder than ever. And at the end of the day, we made the ultimate decision to leave in the Lord's hands. Six months went by. And I remember having the conscious thought, and voicing it to my husband, that I'd finally come to be at peace with only having three kids. That we have a good, no, great life, and I will accept this reality.
The next month, I discovered I was pregnant. Humbled and overwhelmed, I have been making plans for the past eight months for this new little person to join our family. And I couldn't be more excited.
I've had thoughts I've been afraid to vocalize for fear that would mean they are a premonition. I worry about the health of my baby. More so that I ever did with my others. I worry about complications with the delivery, about her coming too early. I worry there will be something wrong with her. I worry I will fall off the deep end when she comes, or that my illness with rear its ugly head again, and I won't be able to care for my family. I worry about the crazy schedule we have for the kids, and teaching piano, and not being able to do it all.
And so, I pray. Everyday, I pray that my sweet baby will be healthy and strong, and come right when she supposed to. And I pray everyday, that this time, I won't get depressed. That the tools I've gathered over the years to combat my depression will do their job. I pray for my children, that I can still give them all that they need with this new addition. And for my husband, who works so hard for our family, and is such an amazing support to me.
And I can't wait to meet my little girl....
