Disappointment and Guilt

Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin.  This year has been one of my most difficult years. 

I haven’t written a blog post in over a year and a half.  Every time I sit down to write something, I feel like none of it really matters.  It’s been hard to even put into words what I have been feeling. The vulnerability around expressing myself feels icky and like I’m exposing an open wound.

But I’m going to try.

This pandemic is draining.  The hate and division is draining.  The political mess is draining.  The racial inequalities and injustices. The fires.  The floods.  The unbelievable things happening in other parts of the world.  All of it is just draining.  

I was already feeling very anxious about COVID and all the other outside global issues that have been happening.  But when I saw a positive pregnancy test back in January, I honestly couldn’t have been more disappointed.  

There.  I said it.  

A word I NEVER want to use when it comes to growing my family.  Disappointed.  

And yet, it’s a real feeling I had and still struggle with as I come close to delivering this baby.  Being pregnant is quite a journey.  A sacrifice of a woman’s body, mind, and soul.  A rebirth of oneself as a woman and a mother every time another child is delivered.  It is always a blessing but sometimes the timing can make it feel like it isn’t.

And that’s how I feel.  

I so badly want to feel excited and eager to meet this little being growing inside me – and sometimes I do feel some of that excitement.  Mostly, I just feel sad and even a little angry.  

Every pregnancy, I battle with severe nausea and vomiting in the first several weeks of pregnancy.  I can’t keep anything down, vomiting up to 12 times a day.  It’s intense.  And somehow, this pregnancy seemed even harder.  I was sick up until about 20 weeks. I know it’s because of the immense guilt I feel about how disappointed I really am.  I don’t want to be doing any of it.  I don’t want a difficult year to be even more difficult. 

Every ache, every pound gained, every little kick felt, are all just reminders of the disappointment – and even worse – the guilt I carry.  

I know I’m a loving mother.  I would do anything for my kids.  They are my pride and joy and they represent my most proudest accomplishments. But will I feel that way about this one?  The one I didn’t really want?  The one that surprised me in one of the hardest years during some of the most difficult times?  

I try so hard to find that love and happiness.  I browse through newborn and baby pictures of my 3 kids and try to remember how fleeting and special that time was.  I watch countless birth videos of incredible mothers bringing life into this world (it ALWAYS brings me to tears).  I walk the baby aisles in Target trying to find excitement in all the little clothes and baby items. And yet, the “pit in my stomach” feeling is still there. 

I want to say that I’m confident I’ll feel that love and joy once this baby is here.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was terrified that I won’t.  Terrified that I won’t be the best and most loving mother.  Will he/she forgive me?