This pregnancy is the most terrifying of them all. If you’re late to the party, then **SPOILER ALERT**, I am indeed incubating a fetus. Parasite. Cute and cuddly reproduction of the human species. You get the drift.
19 weeks. Almost halfway.
It’s a good thing I have 3 others to keep alive while growing this one. I have less time to worry about what could be, or will be, what probably isn’t the case, or what may hit me out of left field while I’m not looking. I was pregnant with the first 3 before the explosion of social media. Crap. I’m ancient. Or at least before I had 5,000 internet friends. All of whom have real lives and some of whom have lived through and are going through real hardship and tragedy. And posting about it so that our multinational support group can pray with them and support them virtually. Which I love!!! In our very busy and often detached world, we have real-time encouragement and an ever-spreading prayer chain.
To an anxious heart like mine, however, this also creates fertile ground for my tendency to incessant, paralyzing worry. Which, in turn, has it’s own twisted benefit of making me take control of my hormone-ridden thoughts and choose to place my trust EACH INDIVIDUAL MOMENT in a God who has everything I could ever need. Which is a little exhausting. I’m not gonna lie. Anxiety takes its toll, but using my pregnant mind even for worthy things is also tiring. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night waiting to feel kicks and punches. Which I then have to remind myself is also ridiculous. A lot of women aren’t even able to feel fetal movement this early. And I shouldn’t be wasting valuable sleeping time on thinking.
Or on Plants v. Zombies.