Lessons in Adulthood #458...

...God Has a Sense of Humor. (Alternately titled: Irony At Its Finest.)

So it has been a month since my last post. A serious blogger, I am not. My apologies.

In that time, good things have happened. At just under 8 weeks, I went for an ultrasound for "dating and viability." After a few tense moments, we saw that tiny, fluttering heart. And the little lima bean body it belonged to was measuring right on target. I cried. The technician started to cry. On top of that, she said she wanted to give me double the pictures to take home, since I "probably didn't get any last time." The whole experience was a far cry from the last. It was glorious.

After, such positive results, my midwife switched me from oral Pro.met.rium to progesterone suppositories. It's true that they are messy and a bit of a scheduling pain (as they are to be, ahem, inserted twice a day and you have to allow thirty minutes to lay down after each dose.) But I felt better almost immediately. The nausea, the fatigue, the constipation didn't disappear completely, but improved greatly. I felt like a new woman. Scratch that. I felt more like the woman I used to be.

At just under ten weeks, I had another appointment with my midwife. My uterus was measuring at ten weeks and we were able to listen to that lightening fast lub-dub-lub-dub. I cried. Again.

Now here I am, 12 weeks and 4 days, and even with all of that good stuff behind me, I'm still having a hard time trusting that I'm pregnant, that things are still progressing. And on top of that, I'm frustrated with myself for not being able to believe in this pregnancy. For starting every statement with "if." Like, "If this pregnancy sticks..." Or, "If we end up with a baby..." I know it's a defense mechanism. I know that I'm just trying to protect myself from more heartbreak. But it's also getting in the way of bonding with this baby, of opening my heart to this baby.

I go back to my midwife in a week, and at that point I will have stopped taking progesterone. Hopefully, things will continue to be positive. Maybe, I'll start to trust my body and this process. I'll keep working at it anyway.

Where was I? God's Sense of Humor. Right. I'm getting there.

In my first post I mentioned my divorce. It was nutty and I don't particularly feel like rehashing it at this moment. Suffice it to say, after a five year relationship, my husband came home in the middle of the night, woke me up, and said he had never wanted to be married, didn't want children or a mortgage or a wife. That was why is was over. Not because he didn't love me, but that we didn't want the same things. Or so he said. So that was it. He moved out a few hours later. During the state mandated year separation, we saw each other three times. When the divorce was final, he quit his job, moved across the country with his girlfriend -- who he claimed also didn't want children or marriage -- and became a vegan. Not that there's anything wrong with being a vegan, but the man used to eat bacon wrapped around ham dipped in cheese sauce. That might be an exaggeration, but not by much. His favorite pizza was topped with cheese, bacon and sausage. And that is the truth.

So fast forward a two and a half years to yesterday. His grandmother's birthday. His family and I have remained close and I called to wish her a Happy Birthday. She said she wanted to tell me something, before I heard it from anyone else. I braced myself. As it turns out, my ex, "Mr. I'm Never Going to Have Children, Settle Down, Live the Conventional Life" and his like-minded girlfriend are expecting a son in October. It knocked the wind out of me. Not because I thought I would be having his children. I did, but that was long ago and far away. I wouldn't trade my husband for anyone, and I am thrilled to be having his child. What hurt the most was that two people who spouted off to anyone who would listen that they wouldn't be having children, apparently got pregnant with ease and have had no trouble carrying this baby. Therein, lies the great joke. The one who said she wanted nothing more than to have children, to be a mother has to struggle to hold onto her pregnancies. (That would be me.) While people who didn't want children can have them without much thought at all. (Them. And lots of others, too, I'm sure.)

Nobody said life would be fair, but come on! Maybe I should adopt a new strategy. Maybe I should say I don't want children. Maybe I should act selfish. Maybe I should have a quarter life crisis and abandon every vestige of my former life. And then maybe I'll deserve an easy, worry-free pregnancy.

I'm getting over it. I keep reminding myself that I am living the life I was meant to live. That what God has for me, is mine. That this struggle is teaching me lessons and that I will never, for one second, take the miracle that is life for granted. If I think about it hard enough, I can find a way to see this journey as a blessing.