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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.