silence killer.

It’s been 11 weeks since I found out I was pregnant and the words have been stuck inside me like peanut butter. I need to break my silence, for my sanity's sake. I feel like I’ve “lost writing” the past few months when I’ve only been too chicken to sit down and wrestle with my emotions, the way writing makes you do.

But now-- no more silence.

 

I wish I could think of a good beginning, as any good story would have. That’s what this still feels like: a story, not my life. And while I’ve certainly grown to be excited about all the new on the horizon, I don’t exactly mean that in a “pinch-me-I’m-dreaming” intonation.

I’m caught in a crossroads of honesty and understanding. I’ve been given a gift-- put in a position-- that so many women, including friends of mine, have spent time on their knees in prayer for. And here I am. Walking around like a zombie of indifference-- everyone who has known me growing up knew that I did not want to get pregnant. I still feel that way. I really don’t want to be pregnant. I think it’s gross and weird looking. That has never meant that I didn’t want to be a mom. I can’t wait to be a mom! I can’t wait to meet this sweet little girl inside me. But it doesn’t mean overnight I’m going to be stoked about the way it’s happening.

But I guess this is really everyone’s story and it’s just something we wrestle with: this isn’t the way I thought my life would look.

I’ll just start this during the first week of February. Call it whatever you want-- but I knew something (someone?) was growing inside me. I could feel it. After about a week of suppressing these thoughts, I was working out on a Friday afternoon and I broke down crying because “Oops, I Did It Again” came on Shuffle. And I knew I had to just do it- face reality- pee on the stick- figure it all out. And so I did. And of course, I was right. And I wish I could have reacted the way you do when your prayers are answered. But I froze, threw the stick away, and continued with my workout. I didn’t even tell Andrew until almost 24 hours later. A week later, I got blood drawn and a week later the doctor called me and laughed because I was about eight weeks pregnant. A week after that, we saw our kid for the first time through the lens of an ultrasound machine and found out that actually, we were already eleven weeks into this adventure.


It’s a lot to go from not thinking about pregnancy to thinking you have nine months til motherhood to realizing you actually have six months in only a matter of weeks.


And so, silence.

Pregnancy is a hard thing to talk about. People are all up in your body’s business and walking on eggshells around you for no reason at all. It’s hard because again-- I know this is the miracle so many people are praying for-- and so to say anything negative feels like throwing rocks. But I can’t fake thinking it’s sweet that my stomach is expanding. I don’t. I’m learning to stop being selfish about my body. I'm learning. But I’m still in a drag out fight with myself over these feelings-- ones that do not make me love the child growing inside me any less.

 

For weeks, my go-to mode of life has been to not think about pregnancy. Hey, from the moment I saw those plus marks, rational mindset went into overdrive. This is happening. You can’t change it. You can’t back out. You might as well accept it and move on.

But I know there has got to be more than walking through this with a half hearted grin as people ask me if I’m “okay” for the 10th time in a day. There is more that God wants to teach me in this weird season. My sister said to me, “you won’t be the same person at the end of this”. And that has stuck with me. I’m glad. I don’t want to be the same person. I’m ready to be refined and challenged and stretched. I’m ready to be a different person and to be the mom God intended me to be.

But it doesn’t mean I’m ready to take bump pictures or talk to strangers (read: anyone?) about breastfeeding. It doesn’t mean I have to “glow” or love being pregnant. Will it be worth it? Yes, abundantly yes. But I still want to be a person. A person with goals and hopes and ideas. A person that is more than just pregnant.


So I give you this poorly written piece to break the seal: I have to write.
It’s who I am. I’m back to the keyboard and i’m ready to wade through the messiness of life again: of pregnancy and of all that life encompasses beyond.