Today should be some sort of holiday for me. It doesn't feel like it though. I go back and forth between complete excitement and relief thinking, "Oh my gosh! I'm only three weeks from freedom!" to total depression and frustration feeling like three weeks is an eternity. When the excitement is here, it doesn't last long. Not that I'm not excited to finally meet Josiah. It isn't excitement over baby...It's excitement over being me again, and having some semblance of my life back. I never stop being excited to meet him. But I do struggle on most days with the depression and emotional solitude that bed rest and high risk pregnancy brings.
My mom said something the other day that really made me laugh. I was crying about someone saying something about the constant nausea/vomiting/constipation I've had since June 28th (yes, I remember the very day it started) being the result of me having been a rather "unhealthy" person before. I can't remember what exactly this person said to make me so upset, but they indicated that I was never really super healthy or strong before all of this. I felt indignant, because I was always very healthy and strong before this mess! And just because I'm going through all of this doesn't mean I'm not a strong woman, or a healthy woman. I'd really like to think that I'm stronger than most people because I've made it so far. Many women in my situation, unfortunately, become so depressed they become suicidal, or opt to terminate their pregnancy even with a baby they desperately wanted and tried for. It's devastating, but I think knowing of tragic situations like those only proves that I'm a warrior of sorts. I've made it so far, and I don't resent my child, and on most days (lately), I'm not wishing for death anymore! So I should get some kind of recognition for my strength.
Anyway, I got distracted. I was having that same conversation with my mom, she said, "Well, think of this: When big strong men who never ever get sick end up with the stomach bug or food poisoning, they throw up for several hours and lay on the floor of the bathroom moaning and groaning, wishing for 'death' dramatically, right? And while they're laying there moaning and groaning, they vow that they will NEVER EVER again eat or go near whatever in the world it was that made them this sick. Not only that, but most of us vow to never again go near whatever it was we threw up, even if that isn't what made us so sick to begin with. When even the strongest people get a stomach bug, we turn into whimpering crying children, and promise ourselves we'll never do whatever it was that made us sick again. After 24 hours and some chicken soup, we're all better. You have done this and felt this way for the past seven months, nearly every day. As someone who hates to get sick, you're practically a hero! And when I get sick and later vow to never ever eat pasta-roni again, or whatever it was that made me sick, I mean it. So I certainly take you seriously when you say you're never ever gonna have another baby again! And that's just fine!"
It made me laugh because I got sick on Hamburger Helper one time in like the third grade. Threw up twice, cried like a baby all night long, missed a day of school, etc. I vowed to never go near the stuff again, and everyone understood and took me seriously. My parents stopped buying it and my grandmother stopped making it when I was over. However, I get sick every day for 3/4ths of a year, and tell people I'm never getting pregnant again, and they shake their heads and say, "No, you'll change your mind." Lol. Nope. If I was scared off of Hamburger Helper for some fifteen years after one night of illness when I was a child, I'm thinking I won't be quick to forget this experience, or what factors brought me here.
I must be in a rambling mood, because that's all this blog is. The past two days have just been bad days, and I'm miserable and not afraid to tell you that I am. Week thirty-seven seems like a myth to me right now. I fully expect in my current state of mind for week thirty-seven to magically appear right along side a unicorn and Puff the magic dragon. I wake up everyday and feel like I'm Bill Murray in "Groundhog Day." I realize the calender changes, but I'm just a rat running on a wheel while the rest of the world progresses and changes around me.
Oh well. Maybe when this fictional "week 37" finally does arrive, Puff will let me ride him to the hospital.
God bless,
Kathleen and Travis
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