Imagine we’re sitting in a cozy, sunlight living room. Comfortably tucked into oversized hug-your-body chairs. Snuggled up to fashionably fuzzy pillows. A stylish coffee table between us. Two jumbo mugs of steaming coffee within arm’s reach.
If we were sipping coffee together I’d tell you . . .
How incredibly long and surreal this week has felt . After another uncomplicated (and otherwise medically unremarkable) pregnancy thus far, my husband and I found out that I’m showing early signs of delivering prematurely again. Oh, the mixed emotions! . . . On one hand, I wasn’t a bit surprised when the NP told us. Being that our first little guy spontaneously arrive 6 weeks early, the possibility of having a second early arrival feels absurdly normal. At the same time, my body’s ability to make such a drastic change, seemingly overnight, caught me off guard. There have been zero red flags up until now. Add to that, the weekly injections I take with the specific purpose of preventing preterm labor . . . My mind has gone through a kaleidoscope-like shift over the past six days, moving from unfazed acceptance to nervous anticipation, finally settling into an unshakable peace.
I’d let you in on my word of the week. Grateful.
Grateful for early detection.
Grateful for modern medicine and fetal monitoring.
Grateful for the steroid shots that will help develop my little man’s lungs and prepare him for life outside my body, in the event he does arrive sooner than 37 weeks.
Grateful to have made it to 34 weeks and 6 days. Three days further along that I was when Little J was born. Three days more pregnant than I’ve ever been!
Grateful even for bedrest . . . Because while bedrest is an absolute punishment for someone like me—Read: someone always in motion, who rarely sits, and who thrives on movement and fitness to keep the blues at bay—the alternative is most certainly brining another NICU baby into this world. And while he still may arrive early, despite all precautions, warning is my golden ticket of a difference with baby Luke. If there is anything I can possibly do that boosts his chances of staying put, you better believe I will do it to a big, fat capital T. Every second he bakes allows him the opportunity to grow stronger. And for that I am grateful.
If we were sipping coffee together right now, you’d see the unwavering smile on my face. I am at peace. At peace with waiting. At peace with not knowing. And at peace with simply sitting (literally).
What have you been up to since our last coffee chat?