Potato Salad

I ate potato salad for a week, not because we had nothing else to eat.

Our twelve year old cat started following me around the house, especially at night.

My face was the most broken out it had been in years with no sign of it ceasing.

My patience was absolutely nowhere to be found.

I was overly carsick.

I cried over everything. More so bawled, sobbed, and nothing was too small.

Sunday night though, I knew. Without a doubt. I’d like to save you the intimate details, but I will tell you I bawled for hours, telling Brett all the reasons I couldn’t be wrong. The ones I’ve listed above.

I took a test one Monday before I went to get my mental health checked off for the week, but lo and behold, it said no.

It only took two more days for that word to show up.

No. Absolutely not.

This was not part of the plan. We were happy, content with the life we have now. We were done, we were good.

Babies have always, always been a blessing. Not once in my life did I think I’d find myself distraught and a mess over finding out we were having just one more.

Yes, this baby is loved. Yes, this baby is a blessing. Yes, this baby is wanted and adored. No, this baby was not planned and shocked us to the core.

I stood with one of my very best friends as she walked the journey of loss and infertility praying she would get that baby she so badly deserved. We’ve suffered a loss ourselves, and I see so many women I know who walk that same painful, heartbreaking journey. There are some who have medical reasons that prevent them from having more babies at all, and here I am carrying a baby that I cried tears of sadness over. That I’ve spent the last 8 weeks being angry at God over.

We went to our first ultrasound and looking at the screen, there was such a disconnect. It felt like looking at someone else’s baby entirely. That couldn’t be a tiny, perfect, blessing of a heartbeat that will soon grow our family of ten more little fingers and ten more tiny toes.

The migraines have started, just as I had them with Alvi, eating is a chore, and the exhaustion is real.

I know the judgement for this will come, and that’s okay. I’ve judged myself plenty already, but I can also accept that each and every single persons journey looks and feels much different to them than it does others.

The “congratulations“ are tough. They make me feel guilty, but I know everyone means well. No one could guess the feelings I’ve been struggling with for weeks.

I pray that opening my soul and being willing to share these awful, incapable of being understood feelings will help me on my journey of forgiving God. To help me no longer be angry, and begin to accept that this is the hand we’ve been deal, and He has a reason for everything.

Every. Single. Thing.

This is one of those times that we had our hand of cards, thinking it was the best one, and God had a card up His sleeve that we knew nothing about and didn’t know we needed to make our hand just a bit more perfect.

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