Well I’m pregnant. We aren’t telling anyone yet, but I guess that I can write it here. You don’t know who I am. I am thrilled. I knew two weeks ago that I was, but I think that it was too early for the pee stick to register. I KNEW, however, that I saw a faint line. My husband insisted that I imagined it. Nope. I just have fantastic eyesight.
My baby is almost 8 months old. I will have two in diapers for a while. It should be exciting. This has really been the plan all along. I want lots of babies. And, well, my fertility is a miracle in light of the years of anorexia, so why not capitalize on the miracle?? At least that’s what I think. I just have to convince my husband that they are cheaper by the dozen!
So the problem that I face is this: When I was pregnant the last time, I put trauma work on hold. My therapist and I decided that it would be too much to be pregnant and going through the trauma stuff. This made sense. Now, it doesn’t make as much sense. I can’t put it on hold anymore. It is ripe, ready to be birthed. Not just a few weeks along, like my sweet little pea inside of me, but full-term. We can’t wait any longer. It is coming. So no more postponements. Nothing can halt this process.
I am not sure how we are going to do it, with an infant and one on the the way. I will have to ask for so much more help than I am comfortable asking for. My husband is going to have to step up a little more. I hope that he’s okay with that.
Because this trauma baby is ready, I am dilated and effaced, and we are on the delivery table. So ready or not, here it comes. Crap.