Poor Andrew can hardly stand my furrowed brow another moment. My face is all knit up holding back the gagging feeling. I thought that I was going to make it through this pregnancy without tossing a meal. Alas, Saturday morning was the end to my record. I was swept away in a gagging fit from which there was no return. I lost my Saturday morning doughnuts.
Then there are the quiet moments. The agonizing quiet moments, which are both edifying and cathartic, and a tempest of misery. From time to time throughout my days, I find myself in a mess of hot, steamy tears. It’s the normal routine that seems a little too stressful in my pregnant state of disarray. It’s the mother in the news article who lost her son. It’s faith on the deepest level—all evoke emotions once untapped.
My least favorite quiet moment is 3:33 a.m. It’s the time I wake up every morning. I hear the whimpers and murmurs of Kristiana in the next room. Then my bladder and my empty stomach begin to nag and I begin to have thoughts for the coming day. I roll out of bed and attempt to quiet all the noise. I settle the baby, visit the restroom and grab a cereal bar from the pantry. Then I flop onto the sofa and I begin to pray intensely to quiet my aching soul.
In a few more weeks I should emerge from this strange other existence. My rewards shall be great—a little kicking baby to bring a smile to my face. I only hope my husband can forgive the severe neglect and crabbiness. I only hope the Lord Almighty can forgive the selfishness I hold to so dearly as I drag myself through the mire. I do not even suffer the pangs of the first trimester as greatly as some I know. I will have a lot to make up for when I emerge.
My blogging may be scant for a few more weeks.