A Brown Mother

So, apparently my life is moving a lot faster than I realize. I wrote and posted Pregnancy Blog 1 at 23 weeks. Today as I type, I have completed week 27 and am fastly approaching week 28, the 7th month and 3rd trimester of this pregnancy. Where does the time go?

Anywho, as I mentioned in the last post, I have one more part of my “why I’m just starting my pregnancy blog so late” post before I actually get to this pregnancy–and here it is…

After my ordeal with the miscarriage and the trauma associated with it, I decided to move on by simply getting pregnant again (as if I had control over when God would bless me with the gift of life). Because I had begun the process of learning to track my fertility, I assumed that all I had to do was conceive what I understood to be my period of fertility, so I did.

Without any consideration that my plan could fail, I assumed that since I had done what I understood to be all I needed to do, conceive during fertility, I assumed I had gotten pregnant. Did I take a pregnancy test? Yes, I took several, and all of them were negative. However, at this point, I completely distrusted man-made products and, looking back on it now, I refused to accept my reality. I refused to accept that I couldn’t have my way and that I wasn’t in control of when I could. Thus, despite what the many negative tests said, I secretly believed, more like hoped really hard, that I was pregnant and so my body reacted to my mind.

I don’t really want to go into too many details about that, but long story short, after months of hopping from doctor to doctor (including the awful lady from Pregnancy Blog 1), not believing or trusting any of them, and going back and forth between doubting and reassuring myself, I came to the conclusion that I was not and had not been pregnant. Another devastation for me–one I still wasn’t ready to deal with completely, though I thought I had.

For the next 6 months I pushed forward with trying to conceive. I drank teas, I changed my diet, I gave up some habits, I read books, I tracked my fertility, I exercised… and it seemed that nothing I tried worked. I was starting to think that something was wrong with me…and then one day while talking with my husband, I honestly evaluating myself, and my feelings toward my situation, and I realized in all my moving and pushing and trying, I was avoiding the truth. While I focused solely on my body, I was avoiding my mind and avoiding my spirit. I was avoiding critically thinking about my situation, and avoiding what I’d felt.

I was avoiding accepting the hurt. Medical personnel and some of the people closest to me assured me all my tragedies had somehow been a blessing. I tried to use that.

I was avoiding feeling disappointment. “You can always try again” I kept hearing others say; basically “pick yourself up and try again”. I tried to use that.

I was avoiding being angry. Who would I direct it to? God? My family? My husband? The doctors? I told myself I wasn’t allowed to do that. This was my problem to fix alone. So I tried that.

Most of all, though, I avoided breaking down and giving up control. I was trying to avoid accepting that I could not control my situation because that meant I couldn’t make my problems go away. It meant that I would instead have to face them and accept them, and maybe even not know what to do about them. Maybe I’d just have to wait. Patiently. With no clue as to when I would have my wish.

And it became clear to me. Like that. The truth…clarity: “I am hurt, and I am so, because I am impatient. I am impatient, because I am afraid. I am afraid because I unwilling to let go. I unwilling to let go because it requires that I trust a force outside of myself, and I’ve never been able to do that…ever. I deal with all my problems all on my own because in this world (I’d reasoned), who is there to depend on?”

And like that, I was free. Saying those words out lout to my husband…more-so to myself…I was free. I could properly address my issues because I now knew what they really were. I wanted to be independent and in control. Families can’t operate like that. The universe and everything in it depends on the universe and everything in it. I needed to trust and understand that the greatest strength comes form one’s ability to be weak. Taking the time to stop and react to a trauma is not whining or complaining, it’s being alive and feeling. Not only is it okay, but it is necessary to do in order to heal.

That was mid June.

July 2 I found out I was 5 weeks pregnant. Apparently all of my hard work had paid off. I literally had to let go and TRUST that if I was humble and obedient, I would be rewarded.

The lesson I took from that experience was patience, and I learned that if ever there is something that you want more than anything, but it seems that nothing you do gets you that thing, you either don’t need it, you aren’t ready for it, or there is a lesson you need to understand; a growth you need to make before you can be rewarded with it. Stop, take your time, and think about what that could be.

God is a master teacher, but more over, a master parent. He knows what we really need when we think we do, but in actuality, we really don’t. His thoughts are above our thoughts, and His ways are above our ways, and in order to understand His lessons we have to be willing to elevate our minds and our spirits to receive Him. I’m thankful for that. I’m thankful for his example and that He challenges me and helps me to be better.

So, while I have yet to decide on my baby’s name, or to go shopping for clothes that I’m sure he’d look adorable in…one thing I’m certain of: I want to parent in wisdom, and from a higher place of understanding. I want to challenge my son to be better, elevate him to wisdom, and help him grow in love. I want to be, to my son, the master teacher, and loving parent, that God is, and continues to be to me.

Until next post, Peace.