These last few weeks have been hard on my physically - walking hurts, sleeping hurts, sneezing hurts. I have nosebleeds most days and swollen feet most nights.
But by far, by far, by far, my hardest pain is emotional. I've been sticking out the STUGS (sudden, temporary uprising of grief), which catch me when my mind wanders beyond my emotional fences. I cry in the shower and in the car on the way to work. I cry for John and Drew and for my grandmother, I cry for Emily and her emotional issues - so gradually heaped onto her slight shoulders by dead brothers, emotionally checked out mothers and abandonment by a bio dad she struggles to remember properly.
Then the Universe decides to give me something to cry about: Clark is measuring small.
It was mentioned at our last ultrasound that his femurs were slightly short and his measurements were between the 10th and 20th percentile. Now, a month later and back in the ultrasound room, we find out that the measurements have gotten no better. He has grown, but not at a rate that would have him catching up.
My little guy really is a little guy and now I am so, so, so afraid for him. I'm desperate to deliver him now because I trust the doctors and the specialists to keep him alive far more than I would ever trust my own body.
So though I cry, though I mourn, though I worry - now my STUGs are more about what could happen instead of what has already happened. I just want to curl up in my bed and stay there until I know he is here and here to stay. I have not felt like this in months. I became one of those naive mamas expect happy pregnancies, easy births and healthy babies.
Ugh. Story of my life. How many times must one woman learn the same lesson the hard way?
Thinking of you and praying for you. Anxiously awaiting Clarke's arrival. You are a wonderful writer; you hit the emotions spot-on. (I have lost 2 daughters to an autorecessive disorder. I so badly want to give it one more try. I applaud you for doing so.)
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