In so many ways this pregnancy has brought me to the end of myself. Over and over and over again. To be fair, this first trimester of pregnancy is the tip of the ice berg of a very trying season, and adding constant nausea to the mix just plain stinks. It’s even harder this time around – I suppose because JD and I are chasing a one year old around the house and no longer have the luxury of rolling out of bed, preparing that lovely egg, cheese, and ham sandwich, and then diving into work. The mornings involve two of us walking around blury-eyed while our firecracker pulls books off the shelves and repeats “cracker, please!” over and over until we muster enough cognitive ability to figure out a breakfast for her that doesn’t just involve “cheeyo’s” and raisins. If I am up first, I often have to take a break in the middle of preparing her breakfast to run to the toilet and puke. Ellie finds this extremely unsettling and hugs my leg while said puking occurs. This is just how it is now. The nights are worse. Far worse… as nothing settles in my stomach properly and I am in bed seconds after putting Ellie down sometime just before eight.
Of course, all the while my heart and head are trying to wrap my mind around the fact that in six short months, there will be two babies to care for. Two. TWO!!!! HELLO! HOW DOES LIFE HAPPEN WITH TWO BABIES!?!?!?
As I write this now, I am phasing out of my first trimester at 12 weeks. Just another week or so to go of this blasted trimester that has me seriously contemplating calling a urologist and making a surprise doctor’s appointment for JD. JUST KIDDING. Kind of. Anyhow, I began this post a couple weeks ago, and as I return to it, I have two thoughts: 1) Still true. So So So still true… and 2) My symptoms have gotten a teensy tiny bit better, making the mornings slightly more bearable. The nights are still awful.
This isn’t my point, however.
The end of myself.
Never in my life have I clung to a passage of scripture more tightly and desperately as I have during this season. Isaiah 40:27-31 has literally sustained me as my only source of hope in some very dark moments these past few months. Throughout the day, whether it’s pregnancy, ministry, thinking about life with two, or feeling like I’ve utterly failed as a wife, I find myself whispering portions of this scripture to allow some light to filter through the cracks… Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint… And while this doesn’t make it all better, because pregnancy is real and hard and life’s circumstances don’t clear up like blue skies on a rainy day, my heart finds peace and contentment in these truths about God.
I hope to get to a place where I’m writing again. I’ve missed it. Thankfully pregnancy makes my brain crazy enough to conjure up some nonsense to put on paper, so get ready for the onslaught of “I’m huge/I peed my pants/I can’t see my toes/I gave birth to a frog in my dream/Will this thing ever come out?” and all kinds of goods.
Ellie just woke up. She slept for half an hour. GR. And good bye.