I`m pregnant and it`s been hard. I`ve spent the past 20 some-odd weeks freaking out about my weight gain (which hasn`t really been much, truth be told), my inability to run as much as I`d like to, the nosebleeds. And all of those worries came crashing to a halt on Tuesday when I was told my baby has enlarged cerebral ventricles and that he or she may not be compatible with life.
I`ve been wondering if and when my maternal instinct would kick in. I worried that I wouldn`t immediately bond with this child, that I might resent the stretch marks, the bad skin, the loss of a year at work. And yet, when a doctor sat in front of me and said I may want to consider `terminating my pregnancy` I wanted to lunge across the room and rip her throat out so that she could never utter those words again. `Incompatible with life`? This baby, this growing, kicking, turning creature inside me is life, it is what my life is for.
All of a sudden I`ve been thrust into a world of too-easy-to-get doctor`s appointments and meetings with genetics counselors who I know feel lucky not to be me. A world of statistics, of odds, of stories and sleepless nights. I used to wonder where parents of terribly ill children got their strength - now I know. There is no other choice when when it comes to a child you love with a ferocity you could never have imagined possible.
I am sick with worry that I will lose this baby before I have a chance to hold it. Because we don`t know whether we are having a boy or a girl, I have nicknamed my little one Thumper, because he or she is constantly thumping away in my belly. Though sleep is hard to come by, I have taken to cradling my growing belly and coaxing Thumper to sleep at night, or at least stillness. If I might not get the chance to ever comfort him or her outside of the womb, I hope to transmit some of my love and caring through skin.
I love you, baby. Now, and always.
