a privilege, this worry

A book I just finished reading closed with this thought "Worrying is painful, but compared to the alternative, a privilege". I first skimmed over it, not feeling any significance there (the lead character was referring to her daughter, doing missionary work in Mexico, and her nephew, at war in Iraq) but as I went to close the book, my thoughts were drawn back to that line. And a light bulb went off for me as I realized that as hard as these early weeks are, as miserable as it is to trudge through my third first trimester in under a year, just being given the opportunity to fret over this baby is a privilege. What's the alternative? (Not worrying, obviously, is excluded from the list of possibilities- there will never be a worry free pregnancy for this one.) The alternative, I see, is to NOT have this pregnancy, not have this third first trimester, not to have any reason to toss and turn and distress. That alternative, obviously, is not appealing. I'll take this, the worry, and the opportunity it brings with it. An opportunity to be called mom by a living, breathing creature of the two legged sort.

6 weeks, some odd days. Likely 5 or 4. Creeping towards week 7, a number that to me, seems monumental. 4, 5, 6....they seem earlier, more naive, less substantial. They're "pregnant, but early" and they're preclinical. For weeks I've kept my eye on week 7- closer to 8, closer to 9, closer to skipping over the sad milestones of pregnancies 1 and 2 and into the new world of "the end of the first trimester". My first ultrasound is tomorrow, 12:40. I wasn't scheduled until February 11th, just after the 8 week point. However, I'm anxious. I wouldn't even say that I'm nervous- as much as I hope these won't be classified as "famous last words"- I feel like this baby is okay in there. But there's always going to be anxiety when the ultrasound wand is unveiled, in those moments of silence as it pokes and prods and beams a grainy, unfocused image onto the screen. Those moments where I stare at the ceiling, squeezing J's hand tight, listening for any inhale or exhale from the doctor, that breath (is it sharp?...relieved?...the oh shit variety?...excited?...) an indicator of our future. Because of our horrible history with these things, even non pregnant ultrasounds scare me. The nurse practicioner who performed one in November to check on my ovulation progress seemed a bit perplexed about my nerves during the ultrasound, probably thinking I was some silly little twit nervous about the probing bit. Nope, just a skittish girl for whom these things have never yielded happy moments. I hope tonight goes quickly, a good sleep is in store (without an hourly wake up from the neighbor's dog), and that before we know it, we're exiting the doctors office exhaling triumphantly.

All day sickness arrived late last week. One day I was worried over my lack of symptoms, actually at one point sneaking into the corner at work to poke at my boobs for any sign of soreness, and the next I was dry heaving on the bathroom floor. Helllloooo, hormones. My taste buds have adopted an extraordinary fickleness. One minute chicken noodle soup sounds like an amazing lunch, the next I'm staring miserably into the bowl wondering if I should puke into it or try to dash into the bathroom. Yesterday morning I attempted to drink grape juice and just the smell sent me off to the "vomitorium" formerly known as our powder room. My pukes are unproductive, too. (Which is good- keeps those nutrients in.) I just gag and cough and watch the saliva hit the water as my stomach tries without success to expel every bite I ingested. The cats dash in, big eyed, bewildered, concerned about my hairballs. Then I lay my cheek against the cool tile, with a snotty nose and shiny eyes.... and I smile on the inside. It's a symptom, and I'll take it. Hell, I'd take a daily punch in the teeth if it would somehow keep this baby growing and thriving and ensure its September homecoming.

So for now, I remember that I'm privileged. I'm lucky. I'm pregnant, and I have a chance. I believe in this baby, despite the worry.