Thursday, April 26, 2012


As I write this I am officially 25 weeks pregnant. 
Every week I receive no less than five emails telling me about the progress of my baby.  Why, you ask?  It started toward the middle of my first trimester when I this burning desire to sign up for some sort of email update.  Part of it was because I was afraid that I was missing out on enjoying the growth of this baby, but also because I remembered how much fun it was to compare Liam to edible fruits and vegetables when he was growing inside of me.  When someone comments on how huge I was getting, I wanted to be able to say, "yeah...they're like the size of a passion fruit in there." or, even better, "I know!  It's like a big juicy cantaloupe now!" (man I'm hungry.)  However, I realized quickly that they don't do that here... maybe something about comparing a living baby to weird fruits no one's ever heard of (what is a kumquat anyways?) And so began the search for an email update that would at least give me something I could work with.  Instead I just kept getting email subscriptions that either had my wrong due date, didn't tell me the size, or - even worse - did it is centimeters (gasp!).
So using all of my energy to sign up for multiple email subscriptions, but not having the energy to unsubscribe from above-mentioned email subscriptions, I am reminded weekly of what I, and the baby, are up know - just in case I couldn't tell by the nightly punching bag called "my ribs".

But last week every email I received told me the same thing...that this birth was now viable - meaning that if I gave birth to a healthy baby, it would have a chance in surviving.
That's good news.
But I don't believe them.
Because life is fragile, and a miracle, and pretty overwhelming.
Because even though premature babies almost always live on Grey's Anatomy, they don't always live in real life.  
And because in 2011 I had at least three friends lose a baby past 24 even at full term.

THAT may be one of the most heartbreaking things that could happen to anyone.

If I've learned anything over the past year, I've learned that every jab to my ribs is a blessing.  Every kick to my bladder is a gift.  Every time I feel even the slightest movement I have to thank God that everything is okay for now.  Because it could all be gone so so quickly.

So I welcome 25 weeks, not necessarily because it is one week closer to your arrival - that's a whole other story - but because it means you and your fragile self have been able to survive one more week.  Let's make it 15 more, what do you say?