Since most of my friends know me as a writer (albeit a procrastinating self-deprecating one with little finished work to speak of), it seems odd to them that I haven’t written about being pregnant. I have been asked on more than one occasion if I’ve written anything to or about the child I conceived at the end of March of last year and carried well into December. In those 40.3 weeks of time, I have written nothing. Nada. Zero. The main reason is that my husband and I were nervous the entire 1st trimester. 2010 was our 10-year anniversary and this was our first pregnancy. We were in shock! At first, we didn’t know who to tell or in what time period we should tell them. Between us, we had four friends who had recently had miscarriages. We worried about the glass of wine I had one night out with friends and the drink I had at my sister-in-law’s birthday party. We worried about the green tea I drank everyday that could have blocked the baby’s folic acid intake. We worried about the amnio and then worried that we decided not to go through with it. We worried we didn’t have enough space, enough money; enough time … we were worried. We were the antithesis of 16 years-old and pregnant. We knew we didn’t have everything together and there was no mommy and daddy to run to in order to pick up the pieces. We were mommy and daddy. Despite our concerns, we shifted into gear and tried to come up with some plans, still leaving a few things hanging, in case something went wrong. We prayed A LOT and asked others to pray for us. We tried to get in some one-on-one dating time and even spent one night at a hotel downtown together as a mini get-away to celebrate our anniversary before the world wind we were sure to walk into. By my 37th week, the OBGYNS at Cedars were congratulating me. “You accomplished a great deal, making it this far” one doctor told me. With all of my unnecessary fears, I had no idea that there were real concerns with pregnancy at my age and it actually was a real accomplishment to go full-term. According to recent studies, “at age 40, your chance of getting pregnant in any given month is just 5%.” I would be 42 by the time our daughter was born. Not only that, carrying a child over 40 weeks, at my age, comes with a laundry list of risks, of which I was completely unaware. There could been a host of real problems for me to concern myself with, google and obsess over that might have completely taken over my free time. This was definitely a case where "ignorance is bliss is best" because in the plans that God has laid out for us, stats don't apply. When he is in the midst of it, his will is bigger than numbers. Thankfully, I was able to get through most of the 2nd and 3rd trimester, feeling as if everything was going to go well and that our baby would be delivered safely. As a matter of fact, I actually thought I would be able to work until the day I needed to be rushed to the hospital. I tried very hard to do just that but succumbed to the pressure of both grandmothers and the direction of my doctor to go on leave. The baby’s arrival was imminent as I was 1 centimeter dilated on my last day at the office before maternity leave. I was also 1 centimeter dilated 16 hours before I delivered Alexandria, 2 weeks after my last day of work. Now, I hope and pray I am a good mother to her and a real friend. I hope that I can move her into her destiny and provide her a strong foundation for success in whatever she does. I hope that I will be able to allow her to make her own mistakes and live life on her own terms. I hope that I am able to teach her about God and the power of prayer. And I hope, no matter what I find on google, and how much it causes me to worry, I will be able to rely on old school mother’s instincts when raising her. And when it comes to unnecessary information that will only make me anxious, I hope to remain blissfully ignorant.
“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God;” Phillipians 4:6