What a strange feeling. It's almost surreal, sitting here likely less than an hour away from my first ultrasound.
I have always wanted to be a mom. I had stellar grades in school, and made one of my history professors in college angry when I said that, regardless of my degree, my ultimate goal was to marry a man who loved Jesus and be a full time at home wife and mother. Seeing the second line show up on the pregnancy test was almost like an out of body experience, because that's a moment I have dreamed of and wondered what it would be like for literally decades.
Thoughts ebb at times, crash over me at others.
Will we hear the heartbeat? If not, is it just too early? I'm seven weeks today... sometimes you can't hear the heartbeat until at least eight weeks.
Will the amount of weight I've lost be enough? Or is there too much belly fat and it will make it hard to find anything? Do I regret not being skinnier and having a thinner stomach by now? Was that ever up to me to begin with, anyway? Being that I'm pregnant and God has given me such peace about his timing, I think not. Still.
Will there be two heartbeats? I have prayed for twins for so long, and desire them so deeply... is that a prayer God will answer in the affirmative with this pregnancy? Will I still be satisfied and overjoyed and in love with my little MiniMoose if it's one baby and not two?
Oh, good Lord! What if it's three babies? I want twins... would triplets make me go insane? Or what if it's four? Crazy rare, but it could happen. Eek!
Will they put cold goo on my belly or will it be vaginal? Sometimes the early ones are vaginal. Shudder.
Is everything healthy? I feel increasing peace that Jesus' will is that this pregnancy isn't meant to end in miscarriage. Why do I even assume I'm meant to have a miscarriage, anyway? But that's a whole complex issue of its own that is best dealt with in a later post.
Whoosh. Those are just a few of the tumbling around my heart thoughts. Somewhere in the midst of that I am asking God to be my comfort, my joy, my hope, that I would rest in his character and his promises. He is a good father who doesn't give a scorpion when his child asks for bread. Translation? Though he's good no matter what, when the desire of my heart is to hold a sweet, healthy, alive baby (babies!) in my arms in March, he's not tapping his foot with irritation in heaven, planning to give me pain and miscarriage and death. That's not who he is.
I pray we hear a heartbeat today. Maybe two :) Ultimately, I pray that through it all I know that just as much as Jason is holding my left hand, Jesus is holding my right.