- One morning while still in my first trimester, Chris and I were making our bed. I told him then that this baby could have something wrong. He wanted more details, but I couldn’t give them, I didn’t know what was off, I just knew something was off.
I said before that I’m not one to worry, and have never worried a day in our first son Daniel’s life – or pregnancy. If you come to our house, you will probably find him half-dressed and jumping off of something taller than you. He’s a boy, and I let him be that way. I’m laid back in that department.
But let me tell you, during David’s time in the womb, I worried like I had never worried before.
Had I done something? Had the medications I was on for a stubborn sinus infection affected this baby? Would he be normal? Functioning? Live a long life? Were there other mothers who felt this way and had a perfectly healthy child?
I worried and had anxiety. I had anxiety and worried.
Something must have been wrong with me.
I called a dear friend who has had five children. We met for dinner and had sweet conversation. I told her how I felt. I wanted to know if she had experienced this as well.
Was it hormonal? Some chemical imbalance that was causing me to obsess about my baby’s health? Was it just some buried stress taking root into a new uncharted territory?
Was I … right?
No, no certainly I wasn’t right. My husband Chris and I are young, healthy people. My sweet frient assured me that with each pregnancy and post-partum period, she had some stronghold – fear, worry, and the like. She said she hadn’t ever worried about the baby’s health, however.
I felt so much better after talking to her, but that familiar feeling came creeping back up not long afterwards.
I probed a bit to other moms. I didn’t come right out and say that I thought something was wrong with my child, but wondered if anyone else struggled with this worry.
I needed to find someone who would say, “Yes, I worried horribly – I felt a premonition that there was something wrong with my baby very strongly. But there wasn’t. He was perfect.”
Nobody ever told me that.
Instead I got, “Huh, I never really thought like that.” Or, “Oh, I had a friend feel that way, and there was something wrong. I’m sure yours isn’t like that though.”
I often thought about what our pediatrician would say after that first newborn check in the nursery. Over and over, I replayed the scene of him coming in our hospital room and giving us devastating news. I wondered what it would be.
My pregnancy was going great. Everything was normal – above average, actually. Physically, I felt fantastic. I remember being six months pregnant in our front yard and jumping on a shovel to pierce through our rocky soil in order to plant trees in the 90 degree heat. I walked nearly every night after I put Daniel to bed as I listened to meaningful music by Nichole Nordeman, David Crowder, and other great artists from my iPod. (I tried a pregnancy yoga DVD, although little did I know, a pregnant women on all fours in the living room only turned me a toddler jungle gym!) So I stuck with walking. A couple miles several times a week. I walked, listened and gladly thanked God while I prayed fervently for this child who was growing so roundly in my belly. I felt good.
I was actually pregnant in the exact time frame with Daniel (their due dates were within a week of each other), and the summer didn’t bother me. I remember thinking women who complained about being pregnant in the summer were wimps.
But the summer was long. The longest actually. The summer of 2009 was the hottest (and 4th driest) summer on record where we live in Texas. It was over 100 degrees for over 70 days! (The previous record was 36).
Needless to say, this pregnant woman was exhausted.
I wondered if I had developed that SAD – Seasonal Affective Disorder, where people get depressed in long seasons (usually cold). I had never been so down in my life. I felt like my worrying had affected every part of my life. I felt like an inadequate mother and wife.
I prayed for rain and cold air. Certainly this horrible feeling about my son would go away then.
At 30 weeks, I asked my OB about being referred to a specialist. If they could do an in-depth sonogram, I could be either assured or prepared.
We ended up not doing it. I’m so thankful for that. Had I have known he would have cranial surgery at only12 weeks of age, it would have only escalated my fear.
The hot summer weather got better as September and October progressed, and my excitement grew as I anticipated David’s birth. My glum mood was lifted, and I was able to focus my thoughts about the labor. I wanted to do it naturally, and that goal was a good distraction.
I would feel my belly and pray as David would gracefully shift just enough to let me know he was okay. David was as sweet, soft and peaceful in the womb as he is today. I was ready to meet our precious child.
I knew God would provide. He always has, and he always will.
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Disclaimer: I know the premonition I felt both before and after David’s birth was God’s way of preparing my heart for David’s condition and ensuing surgery. There’s no other way to explain it.
God wanted to prepare my heart and mind. Satan wanted to steal my joy.
You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people. Genesis 50:20
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