a season of hope
Happiest of Fridays, friends!
In case you missed our announcement on the social media, we are excited to share that we’re adding another little pumpkin to our family next April! For those who are interested, I’ll be 14 weeks along this Sunday (the babe is the size of a peach or a lemon, if you’re into those fruit comparison things) and yes, we are definitely going to find out what we’re having (coincidentally, on the same week we’re closing on our new house)! Because I am the worst with surprises and I have a serious need to plan ahead.
How have I been feeling? In case you haven’t been sleuthing around here yourself and noticed that posts have been more sporadic and even more carb-filled than usual (if that’s possible), I’m just now finally coming out of a pretty miserable seven weeks of morning sickness. It started with a sudden hatred of coffee (weep for me) and then was coupled with extreme exhaustion and a loathing of anything that didn’t involve bread or baked potatoes or cheese or, oddly enough, Red Delicious apples. Finally, this week I feel like I’ve risen from the dead as I can handle a cup of joe in the morning (with, um, a lot of creamer, which I usually avoid) and I’m finally coming around to peanut butter again (my one true love). The carb obsession continues to go strong, though, and I will never turn down a meal of the grilled cheese/pizza/burrito/pasta variety. Or just crackers with cheese. There have been a lot of snacks-turned-meals around here lately.
On the more emotional side, it’s been a bit of a roller coaster, with each day bringing new bouts of excitement and fear. I am struggling deeply this time to not be anxious and afraid in every moment as I reflect on our miscarriage earlier this year. I can’t help but feel paranoid and nervous and incredibly vulnerable, even skittish in this pregnancy. That’s not to say I wasn’t the same way with Avery, but this experience is different, as I’m sure anyone who has experienced a pregnancy after a loss will tell you. It’s a strange “club” to be in and while I have found the most loving and encouraging and understanding women in it, it is also a club I still don’t wish to be a part of. I will always remember our second baby and she will always be a child I never got to hold.
That being said, because of my past I am more excited and grateful and hopeful than ever to meet and hold this little one and, in some ways, to experience pregnancy again (minus the morning sickness, blech). We have so many new adventures to look forward to — a new house, a second baby, Avery as a big sister — and I’m anticipating each moment with gratitude that I will be given them. For now, I am learning to appreciate this forced slower season of life, this welcome season of hope, to give myself and my family grace (because seriously, bless my dear husband for everything he has put up with from me in my darker moments of the nauseas) and to lean into every moment, good or bad. I don’t know what the future holds, but today I know that I am pregnant, I have a healthy family and I am blessed. I pray that, in your own season of hope, you feel blessed, too.
P.S. Look for a new food-related post Monday that I think you’re going to love! Hint: Carbs + #virtualpumpkinparty. 😉