I wonder at why I am doing this, when things were wonderful. I had three beautiful, healthy boys and good health and balance in our lives and a routine that was really working. Why did I feel the need to disrupt it all? I feel like I'm gambling with life. What if I don't regain my health? What if there is something wrong with this baby? What if life changes because of this decision, and it's never the same again?
And then, once every couple of days, I hear a newborn cry or see a newborn picture and I remember what it is like to hold that precious new life, only hours old, and what it is to nurse them in my arms, and cuddle up to their small bodies in bed. These thoughts are short and fleeting, but I reach out and try to grasp at them with shaky fingers. Honestly, these moments probably come too rarely for what I really need, but I'm trying my best to remember them. And I pray, so hard, for deliverance from this stage of the pregnancy, I beg the hours to go faster, the sun to set faster, the weeks to slip by faster. I pray I will regain something of my normalcy within the next two months, and that it won't be like this for the next seven.
I feel confined, hooked up to a machine 7 hours a day now that keeps me upstairs, between my bedroom and the bathroom, unable to stray more than 36 inches from it. As I write I wonder if down the road I'll question why I didn't try to keep all these ramblings positive, leave out the trials and pain and heartache. But I guess more than anything I want this to be a true portrait of who I am and what my days really are. Because I called this journal "our daily treasures" and it is only through pain and suffering and sadness that true joy and happiness can really be recognized. These are the days that make up who I am and while the process of bringing a baby to life may not be easy for me, they are still treasured, in their own way.