I had a really funny post about shoveling poop that I was going to post this week, but things took a different turn. They always do, don't they?
Instead of writing the dates of first, second, third trimester landmarks, I am starting over again this month. Instead of calculating my March due date, I am turning to the month of April...
Yeah, you get the picture. I often wonder if I write too personally on this blog, if I give out too much information- sometimes I think it's called for and other times I wonder 'what's the point?'
The point of this post...
I was 5 days late this month. I was CERTAIN that I was pregnant. I mean, so certain that I knew my due date and the possible date of my induction. I knew when I would hit the second trimester and so on.
Yesterday, the unwelcome visitor I wasn't expecting showed up.
We spent last week at a beach in Florida. I'm the kind of person that craves the beach. Every year I count down the days until our departure. Everything seems better there, more beautiful and pristine. The air is fresh, the sun is warmer, the sounds are more defined. The things I hope for, the things I desire the most seem possible, my hope of being pregnant this month soared.
When we came home last Sunday, I was still waiting for the 'visitor'. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...I waited. Each passing day I grew more hopeful and excited. Monday morning, I started having that tightening feeling in my abdomen and wondered....'what if...what if...'
I slept fitfully each night, wondering what I would wake up to. After some urging from Chris and a few friends, I got a blood test on Wednesday afternoon. I still haven't gotten the results back- there isn't any need for them now.
Walking down the sidewalk to my favorite deli (in desperate need of a Cherry Coke), I wondered what my sweet friends would say when I told them that His answer this month was 'no'.
I wondered if they would feel sorry for me...I was feeling so sorry for myself...
Seemingly out of nowhere, the Spirit within in reminded me of my identity. What a shock.
I was quite content to wallow in my sadness and feelings of despair (when, Lord, when?), but He was not.
I was hit with not just the (warm and fuzzy) feeling, but with the knowledge that I am a child of God. I am the daughter of the most High. Beloved.
I am still sad, friends. But I do not feel sorry for myself. I have a Father who loves me and one day, He will make all things right.