My Lesson?

Lately, I've been wondering what God is trying to teach me in all of this.  Considering our struggles, I can't believe that it's just a coincidence that the dates for this pregnancy match up exactly with the dates of my first pregnancy.  So He must be trying to teach me/show me something.

And yet this pregnancy has been so very different.  I've been nauseous all the time, get heartburn when I drink water (much less eat anything of substance), and crave sweets when last time sweets were the only thing that made me sick.

I said last time that I didn't care what gender the baby was, but I secretly wanted a boy.  I wanted my oldest to be a boy so that he could look after his younger siblings in a way that no girl can do (at least in my mind).  And the truth is that I got exactly what I wanted.  A big brother who will be watching over his younger sibling(s) in every way.  And this time, I still say I don't care what gender the baby is and that is the honest truth, but there is a part of me that wants a girl.  It's the part of me that's scared that come June I'll be back in the hospital and then visiting the NICU.  That part of me wants a girl because I know the odds are against little, white boys and slightly favor little, white girls. 

And yet, it has occurred to me that I don't just want a little girl.  I want my two-year-old son here AND a little girl.  I want to be able to completely erase the fears of prematurity and be like most other 2nd-time mothers I know who are more worried about how they are going to afford childcare for two or deal with two kids crying at the same time than whether or not they'll get the chance to hold the baby when he/she is born.

And that is honestly all I am thinking about right now.  When I found out I was pregnant the first time, I hit all the baby websites and started thinking about the perfect delivery.  Having my family there, delivering naturally and possibly even without an epidural and having Doug hand me this baby just minutes after it was born.  When Logan was born he was whisked away within minutes and all I got was a drug-fogged glance at my son and Doug wasn't even there. 

So this time around, I'm not worried about who will be in the delivery room, how I'll deliver, or whether or not I'll get the drugs, my sole wish for delivery is that I get to hold this baby, even if it's just for a minute or two, before the nurses take her (or him) away.

Some people have been telling me not to worry about what happened last time, that I need to relax.  All I can say is that is like telling someone who has been attacked by sharks, "Oh, don't worry about these sharks, they wouldn't hurt a fly".

And it makes it so much more difficult that the days are the same.  Logan was born on a Friday and the Friday before his birthday (which is on a Sunday this year) I will be 24 weeks 6 days, which is how far along I was the day that he was born.  So there must be some lesson in this.  And I've been searching for it.

And I guess I'll keep searching until God decides to clue me in!