The sad truth is: I have absolutely no confidence in this pregnancy. None, zero, zip, nada. My complete lack of confidence is squelching any and all positive emotions: happiness, joy, peace, etc.
I went for my 8-week ultrasound expecting it to be like that other, 8-week ultrasound. Considering what had happened a few months before, I forgave my wariness. I thought: if everything goes well, I'll be able to celebrate.
And everything did go well, but I still haven't celebrated. I went to my 12-week appointment, this week, expecting the worst. It took me by surprise to hear the baby's heartbeat.
My doctor said my lab work had shown a low platelet count. He didn't want to talk about it, he said, unless a second test revealed the same.
So, of course, I've been freaking out for days. The nurse finally called a little while ago and said my count had risen from 115 to 131, which is still low; evidently, it should be at least 140. She said I should switch to Flintstones Plus Iron and expect to take another blood test.
I don't ever want to be pregnant again. Seriously. Whether this baby makes it here, or whether (s)he doesn't, I'm so done. My nerves are completely shot. Like, I don't want to leave my house; I don't want to deal with the girls; and I don't want to mop the kitchen floor or wash my hair. I don't even really want to talk to anybody.
Maybe this is where faith comes in. Then again, the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. There's no guarantee or promise that I'll have a healthy baby. I can be sure: God won't leave me; He has a plan; and He will work all things to my good.
Right now, none of that feels so very much comforting. And, I mean, it is what it is. If you're waiting for me to apologize for sounding like a spoiled brat...yeah...keep waiting...