Today marks 9 weeks.
And I have, somewhat inadvertently, wished most of it away by doing things like counting down days to to the next appointment or ultrasound. I swore to myself many moons ago that I would enjoy every day of being pregnant, and in some ways I have, but in many others I’m wishing time away.
Pregnancy has been extremely nice to me. I’m not sick. My fatigue is mostly limited to recent wishes to spend more time on the couch. I don’t have headaches or nausea. I don’t have food aversions. I do get some light headed-ness, but my biggest “complaints” surround hunger, thirst and potty breaks. Oh, and some interrupted sleep. I can already see myself growing.
And instead of enjoying it, I worry.
At 4 weeks I worried about BETA levels. At 5 weeks I worried about BETA levels still. At 6 weeks I worried about seeing heartbeats. At 8 weeks I worried about those heartbeats disappearing. Even now knowing my risk of miscarriage is much lower, I still worry.
Some of this is the nature of having gone through infertility. We know all the things that can go wrong. If it hasn’t happened to us, we’ve seen it happen to others. But this is getting ridiculous. I cannot spend an entire pregnancy worrying. I refuse to get to the end of this and realize I worried the entire pregnancy away.
In my defense, I’m not worrying ALL THE TIME, and I know some worrying is normal, but this is too much.
Belle @ Scrambled Eggs posted a fabulous quote recently:
“If you get caught up in the worst case scenario and it doesn’t happen, you’ve wasted your time. And if you are caught up in the worst case scenario and it does happen, you’ve lived it twice.” -Michael J. Fox
Good call, Mr Fox.
It’s time to let go.