As I’m closing in on 33 weeks in my pregnancy with George’s sibling, things have been starting to feel hard again. The breath that I was able to let out a bit when I made it to the end of the 2nd trimester has been slowly building back up within me.
All signs are pointing to things being just fine – baby is moving around regularly within me, and I’m consistently able to find the heartbeat now when I listen with my special stethoscope (which is generally every night as I’m settling into bed). I can tell the baby has been getting bigger physically, because I’m now seeing their movements from the outside more often – room is getting tight! I’ll get to see the baby tomorrow on a growth ultrasound – they’re wanting to check in on that since I had covid during pregnancy. (It’s been about 6 weeks since my last ultrasound at this point.)
I’ve created a birth plan, am partway through a 3-part virtual birthing class, and have an appointment in April to talk to a pediatric clinic so that I have the baby’s pediatric care provider lined up before birth. I’ve got a car seat and almost all of the essential “stuff” that I’ll need for when baby joins us in the outside world.
I’m taking all the steps to do what I can to prepare for baby’s arrival.
All that said, hope is such a difficult thing for some of us, after loss. There is a part of me that has been speaking very loudly lately, reminding me that there is still no certainty that I’ll end up with a living baby even though statistics are solidly on my side at this point. I’ve been feeling fear and anxiety and worry. I’ve found myself in the last few days wondering how I would tell people and what I would do differently if the worst happens, again. When I do go into labor, I will likely limit who I communicate that information to, until I know the outcome.
I had a really good therapy session today, working with that part of me. My only experience with birthing a child thus far ended in that child’s death. I have so much love for the baby that I feel growing and moving within me now; the part of me invoking the worry and the fear is just desperate to do what it can to try to shield me (even if just a tiny bit) from the heartbreak I will experience if the worst were to happen again. His thinking is that if I’m aware of the worst that can happen, at least it won’t catch me completely off guard if it does happen again.
Really, what that part of me is feeling is completely valid and understandable – a logical reaction to what I’ve been through, and I refuse to paint these emotions as negative. I don’t want to make this part of me go away or pretend that he isn’t there. What I do want to do is hold space for this part of me, acknowledge him. Make sure he knows he’s welcome in my life, and even at the new baby’s birth. My therapist and I are working together to come up with tools and strategies for doing so in a way that feels safe and good.
My goal with all of this work with that part of me is to allow him to feel heard and safe, so that perhaps he can sit back and speak a little softer and allow me to connect with more joyful anticipation a bit more easily. I want to be mentally and emotionally present at little sibling’s birth, while still allowing for the wide array of emotions and parts of my self that will undoubtedly show up.
I trust that I can do this, and am grateful that I’ve been doing some pretty intense work over the past year to do what I can to prepare.