Whew. Well, it's been a while. I always know my brain is too full or my heart too emotional when I don't blog regularly. Right now it's a bit of both.
The pregnancy is moving right along. This weekend will be twelve weeks. I am so darn anxious to hit the second trimester, and to hear the baby's heartbeat again at my appointment next week. I'm ready for some peace of mind.
One month from now, Josh will be leaving Washington. The rest of us will not. The boys and I will stay behind this school year. While this breaks my heart (I hate the idea of our family being apart) I know it's what is best for both the boys and myself. For the boys, being in town means extracurricular activities to enhance their homeschool experience; the chance to be in swim lesson and on t-ball teams; and the opportunity to be around their extended family. For myself and Babyham #4, being in town means a safe pregnancy, near medical clinics & hospitals, as well as the support of my friends & family. Between my anxiety, my depression and the miscarriages last year, I just don't think I can face another winter in rural Alaska.
I will miss Josh incredibly while he's in the village, but he plans to come home to visit often and we're hopeful it will just be this one year spent apart.
We are currently staying with my in laws, although we've looked at a few places to rent, hoping to find somewhere with a big backyard. I'm just praying God places us exactly where He thinks we should be, and am trusting the journey in the meantime.
I am emotional (see above about raising our three boys without Josh for nine months while I grow this baby) and cry at the drop of a hat. Songs on the radio, commercials on TV, stories about my nephew and his humongous, tender heart... All of it makes me cry. At camping last week, I cried because I forgot our boys' baseball gloves.
I have been struggling with the concept of hope the last few weeks. I know that being superstitious won't make the baby stick. I know that, truly I do, but I still find myself not wanting to do certain things for fear that I will end up miscarrying. For instance, I haven't bought a single thing for this baby. Not one. I haven't even bought a Pregnancy Journal, and for those who know me, this is unheard of.
My sister, bless her heart, bought me a footy pajama to hang in my room, so I do have one item for this little babe. It brings me such joy each day to wake up and see it. It's like I think if I don't buy things for the baby, or jot down notes about the pregnancy in a Pregnancy Journal, then I won't be upset
when if I lose it. (See, I even typed "when" I lose it, not "if".) But we both know that whether I have a nursery set up or not, my heart will be decimated. It must be some kind of maternal heart protection. Maybe once I get out of the danger zone I will venture into the newborn section & pick out some onesies.
In the meantime, I grateful for every day that I get to carry this baby in my body. Even if the pregnancy doesn't end with a healthy baby, this pregnancy has been a miracle, every day that it's lasted. And that is not lost on me.