I’ve talked about it here before, but the verse that I use to get me through pregnancy is “For the joy set before him Jesus endured the cross”. That joy must have been an exquisite joy to have endured such torture. Pregnancy, in no way, shape or form even comes close to comparing to the torture of the cross, or the flogging before it. However, for me, it is a cross… a heavy one. Oh, but there is joy… sweet, exquisite joy.
Yesterday, when Brad came home, he found me in the front yard dry heaving. When I was done with that, I started sobbing uncontrollably. It had been a long day, I’d been close to tears numerous times, and 5:15 yesterday was my breaking point and I just lost it. Eventually, I composed my wits about me, but I never made it back up to normal until bedtime. I was so tired. So emotionally exhausted. I laid there in bed and found myself saying, out loud, “Focus Rebecca. Focus.” and then Brad and I started going through a list of traits we want this baby to have, “This baby is loving, they are joyful, they have an amazing laugh, they love Jesus, they love people, they’re a peacemaker, they like to sleep in on Saturday mornings {wink, wink}” and so on… {Yes, I know that’s plural, but I hate saying “he/she” or “it”}
Then I whispered to Brad that for the first time I really wished that I had a gender to put with this baby. With Zoe, Brad knew from the day I told him we were pregnant that she was a girl. It took about a month before I started to really feel that too. The day the ultrasound tech told us that we were having a girl, we both just smiled… we knew. It was no big surprise. But, this time? I have no clue. Brad goes back and forth every other day. I’m almost leaning towards “boy”, but then I get this twitch and I’m sure that I’m going to have my Adeline. Back to last night, I so desperately wished that I had a gender for this baby so that I could call them, my joy, by name. So that I could focus even stronger on the joy set before me. I wanted a baby blanket to hold close to my heart as I drift off to sleep, a physical reminder of the joy set before me.
As I told Brad all of this he nodded his head in complete understanding. I said it was crazy, because I have a baby in the other room, and a house full of “baby” things. But, it’s just not the same. Zoe got me through her pregnancy… but this one’s not hers. This cross is a new pregnancy, just like this joy is a new baby. A baby that my heart is already connected to, and will always be connected to until the day I die. I love, sight unseen, my #2.
This pregnancy is so different than Zoe’s, in so many ways. It’s equally hard, they both suck. But, with Zoe, everything baby was new and exciting. I read “Your baby’s progress” every week. I read pregnancy books. I read parenting books. I browsed baby aisles like it was my day job. This time? None of that. This time it’s just checking weeks off a calendar, one step closer to holding this precious bundle of joy in my arms. This time, my days are spent focusing on Zoe and cherishing this last bit of time that’s ours and ours alone. I’m soaking in her little toddler-ness, savoring the hilarity of this season with her. I’m watching her lose every ounce of “baby” that was still left in her face, and watching my little baby become my little girl. You could write a birth order book just from this paragraph, but honestly? I’m not apologizing for it. I trust that my little one is safe and secure in my womb, that they are growing according to plan, that they were knit together by the hand of God and that, come September, they will be in my arms.
As I wrote that last sentence, my heart was gripped with sorrow. I woke up this morning to the news that one of my “mom friends” had a miscarriage yesterday. That’s the second miscarriage among friends during this pregnancy. My heart literally breaks for my friends. I find tears streaming down my face randomly just thinking about it. Maybe that’s why I’m so serious today. Because, as rough as pregnancy is for me, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. That joy is too exquisite. Pregnancy, is a cross. But never, for one second, do I confuse that with my child being a cross. Never, for one second, do I wish that I wasn’t pregnant with my child. Maybe, later in life, seasons that my children go through will be crosses that I have to bear… but still? For the joy, that is my child… we will always endure.
Happy Thursday Ya’ll!
