Sweet Pea

The first 6 weeks of pregnancy were difficult, to say the least. My dad passed in October, the same month I found out I was pregnant. This same month, I found that I didn't quite know how to be hopeful anymore. I was overwhelmed with a sense of expectant dread. That something was going to happen, that I should prepare myself for every case of the worst. I read dozens of Reddit threads. Chemical pregnancies, missed miscarriages, miscarriage after miscarriage. Expecting disappointment should soften the blow, no? You can't control the outcome but I could certainly try to control my expectations. I didn't even consider any optimistic outcomes.

I had a positive pregnancy test week 4 after a week of miserable symptoms (Being a woman is SUCH a chore, more on that another time.) By the end of that week however, I tested again, thinking my symptoms were unusually absent. I misread not one, but two pregnancy tests, and confidently came to the faulty conclusion that the pregnancy would end soon.

In some ways, I am reluctant to be pregnant. Sentimental or nostalgic grief, I call it, mourning the loss of my former life and my rose colored images of "the way things are". But not only that, I was devastated by the fact that I was entering yet another phase of my life without my dad there to share the experience. It broke my heart.

While there's still no promise that this pregnancy will be without complications or tragedy, I realize that it's unfair to God, and to Isaac, and I guess to myself too, to only expect the worse. What is life without hope? While it's difficult for me to remember that God still holds good things in store for me, I'm holding on.

11.04.2024