Rocking Chair

I have been so sick.  I thought morning sickness was supposed to end after the first trimester.  But mine has just gotten worse.  Between working and classes, I don't really have time to get sick.  Let alone stay sick.  So the past month or so has been hard on me, trying to juggle all my responsibilities and a perpetually weak stomach.

Two weeks ago I came down with a stomach virus.  For a lady who has an incredibly strong immune system, pregnancy has kicked my tail.  I was out for 48 hours last time, literally posted up in bed because I was too weak to move.  My OB prescribed me Phenergen and that only made me sleepy.  Somehow I managed to stay on top of things, but I was beat.  I fought a few more bouts of morning sickness over the next few days, taking the edge off by eating earlier and more consistently.  But yesterday I came down with another virus.  And I thought I was going to die.

Every time I get sick I worry about this kid.  My sister has felt her little girl move (she and David found out she was carrying their daughter last week).  She is showing much more prominently than I am, wearing maternity clothes already, sharing her baby's name with everyone.  She is consistently congratulated, hugged and asked questions.  People try and rub her belly and she proudly talks about the progression of her pregnancy and the plans she and her husband have.

I am not much of one for that kind of attention.  I recoil every time someone reaches for my belly.  To this day, the only person who I've let touch my stomach is my friend who fist-bumps my small bump and laughs while saying, "what's up, my nigga".  Alright.  So forgive the racial slur.  But when everyone else is looking at you with pity and disappointment, it gets me rolling every time.

Because that's what happens.  Even though I have allowed my pregnancy to become public knowledge, the news has not travelled nearly as quickly as I had assumed it would.  Just last night, my step sister found out that I was pregnant.  I shake my head, thinking: the one time I count on rampant gossip, it doesn't work the way it's supposed to.

On Friday night I went and celebrated my uncle's 40th birthday.  He is one of the best networkers I know, driven, with high aspirations.  I loved watching his plans come to fruition for a cause so near and dear to my heart.  He and I have always disagreed on my fundraising for short term trips to third world countries.  But just because we disagree, does not mean we don't want the same thing to happen: for people all around the world to know Jesus and have clean drinking water.  Simple things.  Important things.

My sister walked around that party like a proud mama.  With her hand on her belly, ring on the correct, left finger.  She is living her dream right now.  She was showing people her ultrasound pictures, proudly bragging on their little girl.  My niece.

And in reality, I wouldn't have it any other way.  Except for the questions some people find it ok to ask me.

Questions, which perhaps are not unreasonable.  Questions, which I'm sure most people are asking.  But questions I don't have an answer for.  Questions I had to choose, from day one, that I would not be answering in any kind of detail.  Not because I get any sick enjoyment out of secrecy.  Not because I'm trying to be vague or elusive.  But because I drew my line.

Many questions were asked of me on Friday night, which crossed my line.

And while I will never want you to touch my belly, and I may never be able to answer some questions to your satisfaction, there are days when I really do want you to care.

-

I spent all day yesterday in bed.  Weak and unable to eat.  I was so violently ill I burst blood vessels on my face.  And the whole time, I was just afraid.  Afraid I'd gotten this far, only to lose this baby.  Afraid I'd finally announced my pregnancy, faced the judgment and criticism and harsh words, only to miscarry.  Afraid it would happen and I wouldn't know.  Afraid I'd do something wrong.

But I woke up feeling well this morning.  I ate, showered, and made it to my last class.

And then I bought a rocking chair.

I believe my sister has already furnished her entire nursery.  Especially now they know it's for Penelope and not a baby boy.  She has always been a nester.  A natural mother.  I am not good at these things.  Actually, I'm so bad at these things I've often wondered how good of a mother I could possibly be.  Because my kid won't be on a schedule and will probably take naps in strange places and eat at strange times and have a dozen aunts and uncles and not wear clothes very often.

But today I bought a rocking chair.  From a ministry called Repurposed Soul, which takes old, used furniture and refurbishes it.  All the proceeds from their sales go to Northwest Haiti Christian Mission where I spent ten days last August.  Rocking a sweet boy named Kiki in a rocking chair early in the mornings and late in the afternoons.

Today I bought a rocking chair.  While worrying that my baby was not ok.  While worrying that I would not be a good mother.  While worrying that I do not have what it takes.

Then I came home from class and laid down in bed.  I have to sell frozen yogurt tonight while UK wins (*crosses fingers*) a national championship.  I am tired and sore and weak and I needed a nap.

When I laid down, however, I noticed that my belly was lopsided.

My belly isn't very big (especially compared to my sister's or Elizabeth's at 17 weeks).  I tell people it's because my hips are big and this kid has a lot of room to move around.  But in the mornings I will wake up and I can feel it.  And see it.  Though I have yet to feel any movement.

But when I laid down this afternoon, I could see and feel it, and it was all on the right side of my stomach.  I was concerned at first.  Instantly wondering if I'd knocked something out of place with all my vomiting.  But I looked it up.  Found out it is completely normal.  And then smiled a little.... taking the lopsided-ness for what it actually was.

A sign that my kid is growing.  And moving.

I poked my belly and told "him" to move back to where "he" was supposed to be.  "That's embarrassing, and you know it," I laughed.  I fell asleep for a little while and when I woke up, "he" had moved back to the middle of my stomach.  I shake my head.  Still wondering if I'm going to be a good mom.  Still wondering if I have what it takes.

But my kid is alive and moving and growing.

And I bought a rocking chair.