I wrote this yesterday, but once the phone began to ring and the Facebook lit up, I was unable to post it:
Ten days ago I was cracking at the seems with a desperate desire to spill a secret > that I wasn’t sure I was able to do.
Today’s the day. The secret is out. And here it is:
Oh my Lord. How good is it to type those words? Even better is knowing the truth behind them.
This is it. I am having a baby.
Then for a completely different perspective of the news, forgetting that I wrote the above yesterday, I wrote this today:
Something happens when you spend years of your life hospitalized, sick and suffering – people look at you differently. They don’t even know it. They don’t realize that when they ask you how you are doing that a glaze of sadness falls over their eyes. They don’t realize that your heart breaks every time you realize you are the one to bring them down even if it’s just for a flicker of a moment.
I stopped sharing with people face to face. It was something that had to be done to save my own sanity and do what I thought needed to be done to relieve them of their pity. When I had to have an emergency eye surgery to save my eyesight, I begged my husband to keep the location a secret from everyone. I love the support showered upon me, I just didn’t want to hurt everyone else. Wasn’t it enough that I was hurting? How dare I cast that upon those I loved?
Slowly, things got better. But by that point I had already locked myself in a world of isolation that no longer included phone calls, human to human interaction and the look in people’s eyes. Good news was shared through the grapevine, via my husband or, my old faithful, the Facebook status.
Then the miracles came. Opportunities to share things with people that couldn’t possibly cast a shadow on their souls started to finally occur. Little by little, I was turning into someone who had good news to share once again. I was turning back into the person who could shine sunlight into your day. I wanted to share. I wanted to scream it all from the rooftops.
Except for one thing… the haunting possibility that the miracle could be shattered before its true fruition. Sharing the news too soon ran the risk of bringing everyone to their knees in the event of a not so uncommon mishap. The miracle would have to remain secret. My joy would remain my own due to the threat of my unlucky medical history.
Yesterday I was finally able to share that secret. Yesterday I was able to shed my curse of bad news and bring friends and family to tears of joy. Yesterday I was finally able to tell the world I am pregnant.
And today I am telling you.
There are no words to fully encapsulate how overjoyed and blessed I am feeling to not only have this be true, but also to be able to share it. I am 12 weeks today and everything about the baby and me thus far has been healthy. A simple seven letter word so many take for granted, but one that brings tears of joy to me on a daily basis.
I’ve been super tired and maybe I can’t concentrate on things as well as I normally do (reading and writing have been super challenging), but everything else has been wonderful – no morning sickness, no cravings or food aversions, so far no crazy mood swings – just growing lovingness.
At the conclusion of this, I realize this doesn’t capture any of the thrill, excitement or overwhelming joy that I am feeling every moment of every day, but that’s because my writing always serves a different voice – the quiet one within my heart. The voice who desperately wants to say she is sorry for getting sick, for breaking people’s hearts and for not being strong enough to share all of her difficulties with everyone who loves her so deeply. The voice who silently tells me it was wrong to lock people out and who knows it is time to learn how to bring them back in.