My pregnancy? I love being pregnant. I'm the definition of the annoying friend who feels like a damn goddess when she is pregnant and has zero complaints. I don't get sick, I don't get swollen ankles (knock on wood), my skin doesn't break out, and my hair and nails have never looked better.
Or...I used to love being pregnant.
Lately though? I feel like I've been robbed. I'm so filled with concern for my daughter and overwhelmed by how Fragile X could impact her that I am struggling to find my glow. And now I know this is my last pregnancy. It's definitive. I wasn't ready to give up the possibility of a third child but I am being forced to. And it hurts. A lot. I have a serious internal conflict between trying to enjoy every last minute of my last pregnancy and just wanting to hit fast forward to the end. I hate that it feels this way. I hate that this is my last. I hate that I’m taking how incredibly blessed I am for granted.
I am one of the lucky ones. It was easy for me. For us. It didn't take us years to conceive. It barely even took us a couple of months. We know how lucky that is. Two easy, healthy pregnancies. Lucky isn’t even a strong enough word.
Over the years I have been introduced to the story of infertility, of miscarriage, of loss. This wasn't my story but instead the story of so many of my friends and family. I have grieved with you. I have cried over your blog updates. I have been scared to ask when months passed without news. I have mourned your loss in my heart. I have prayed for your miracles. I had faith that your story would change. It will change.
In the last 2 months our story has changed too. I have had 2 beautiful pregnancies but our struggle will be different. It isn't something I wish on anyone. It's scary. Not worse or more scary than infertility or loss. Just...scary.
We opted not to test our baby for Fragile X in utero. The results won't change anything. She is ours. She is loved wholly and deeply. That doesn't change with test results. Instead, we will have her tested after she is born. It is safer that way and I can attempt to enjoy a few more months of being "blissfully unaware." That was my thought anyway. But not knowing is hard. It’s eating away at my joy and I’m losing my glow.
I remind myself to slow down. To continue to enjoy the moments. My last moments with Conor as an only child. My last few months feeling the baby kick from inside. My last valid excuse to wear stretchy pants that go up to my boobs.
Conor counted to three last week. He started touching his toes on command the week before. He calls himself “Coco” now. He paints. He laughs and smiles daily. And I just ate my weight in jelly beans so I’m feeling a lot of baby kicks! This is what I celebrate. This is all part of our new story and it’s still good...with a small side of struggle.