I haven’t updated about my pregnancy in a long while. The truth is that besides the stress of moving across the country and settling in to a new city, new house and new surroundings, there is a bigger reason for my reticence in posting about things.
In all honesty, there is a distinct lack of enthusiasm about this baby. I don’t mean that we don’t want him… of course we do. But I don’t feel the same with this pregnancy as I have in my past ones. I keep taking weekly photos of the bump in hopes of making it feel more exciting. Watching my body grow and change, feeling kick and somersault inside of me and knowing that soon we will be a family of five is indeed something positive to anticipate. But I can’t help but feel a little… unmoved by it all.
Part of it is certainly the thick cloud of depression I’ve been suffering for a fair few weeks. Part is hormones. A great deal of it is the SEVERE lack of sleep I’ve been suffering since moving here. Pregnancy insomnia is never easy, but this time it has taken a toll I never could have expected. I am utterly exhausted and feeling bitter and frustrated at everything. I’m also very angry a lot of the time, which manifests in being short with the children and outright nasty to Mark. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve threatened him with divorce for seemingly minor infractions. My love doesn’t seem able to overcome my negativity, and that just brings me down further.
And the worst truth of all, the one I haven’t even said out loud until now and which fills me with shame and even a little terror… is that I don’t know if I love this baby yet.
With Dexter and Daniel, the incredible love I felt was instantaneous as soon as that second little line showed up on the stick. I would have done anything for them, gone through any pain or challenge – indeed, I DID. I didn’t care at all for myself. EVERYTHING I did was about the babies. I kept them safe, did exactly what the doctors told me, worried constantly about them. My love for them was an incredible gift that made me a better person.
But this time around… I don’t think much of the baby. Everything I feel is selfish and focused on my own comfort. I take medicines when I’m feeling unwell – which I NEVER would do unless forced before. I eat soft serve and shell fish and gallons of coffee – which I avoided like the plague in the past. I haven’t even committed to a name for this one, not even giving it much thought. Dexter gave him a name a few months ago, and I haven’t had the strength to argue it.
Hell, I have just had my first appointment with a new OB and I didn’t even try to fight for the care I know I need. The only thing I found out at the appointment is that my fundus is measuring 3 weeks ahead of schedule, lining up with my LMP rather than the date my old OB insisted I have after the 6 week scan.
I’ll make another confession – I think a lot of the problem I’m having committing to this baby is a very specific fear. I’ve taken after my mom in most things in life – looks, personality, etc. And in the back of my mind, in each of my pregnancies, I have worried and fretted that I would go through what she went through. That a child of mine would die. That he would not make it past the baby stage. My brother, Jacob, died of SIDS at less than 3 months old, and I’ve grown up thinking of him all my life.
He was the third baby of my parents. This is my third baby. He was a boy, and this will be a boy. As if all of this wasn’t enough, because of the possible change in my due date (I won’t know for sure until this Friday when I have a scan), this baby may be due in mid-October rather than mid-November… Jacob was born October 16th.
I know all of this sounds rather ridiculous, but in my current hormonal state, with everything seemingly acting against me, I can’t help but worry and stress about what could happen. I literally stay up all hours thinking about how to cope if something terrible should happen. And then, I start to fear that my worry is for the wrong one… I think, “What if I am focusing so much on this new baby and keeping him safe and secure that something terrible happens to one of my other children?”
I swear I wake up weeping each morning. I can’t get these terrible thoughts out of my head.
I spoke to the doctor last week about how depressed and anxiety-ridden I’ve been, but she wasn’t interested. She fobbed me off and offered no help or support. Perhaps the new doctor I will see next week will have some advice. For now, I just muddle through, hoping that I will find some excitement soon. I pray that something will spark within me, and I will see that I’ve loved this little boy all along… that life is going to be amazing going forward. I hold on to all the hope that I can muster that this is all just hormones going wrong and not some awful premonition of disaster to come.