Scaredy-Cat

It's 6:00 am.
I've been awake since 4:00 am (which is the wonderful time in the middle of the night at which I get yet another dose of The Drug From Hell--Incidentally, for the last week or so, I've handled it fairly well).
I really,
REALLY
Do NOT want to be awake right now.
It's my second morning like this.
I knew that at this stage of the game, the mental state would start to get to me more than the physical state; it's true.
You could peel me off of this ceiling.
If I were in places familiar, I could pester David until he woke up, reminded me that I'm an idiot, and rolled over to go back to sleep.
I could take Holly outside, get some milk, maybe watch some TV, pray...
Whatever I could do, I wouldn't be By Myself.
By Myself is not a fun place to be right now.
As D-day approaches, a whole new level of nerves is kicking in. I'm starting to think of things I haven't gotten done (the cloth diapers are NOT ready to go!), of rules I want to make (nobody can come around while I'm nursing, until I get the hang of this thing!), of administrative tasks I'll need to tackle as soon as I get back (Bills! Taxes! Bills! Magically create money from air!); I start to obsess over family scenarios that haven't happened yet, and they escalate in my mind (No, I said you need to leave; I'm exhausted, please go!). I think of things I'm  hoping to do...of how in the world I'm going to recover in a split-level house (can we move the refrigerator upstairs?)...and of how soon I'm willing to take either myself or this new little one into the great, big, scary, germ-filled world (can't the pediatrician just make a darn house call?!?).
I find myself thinking that I will never feel mildly attractive again, and that the knots never will come out of my hair...
I find myself angry over things that haven't happened yet, or things that might happen...I wish I could have my own news cast to the world:
"Don't just drop by! Call first! Wash your hands! Use Anti-Bacterial Stuff! DO NOT KISS THE BABY!!!!!"
(Okay, that's all serious--Group B Strep colonizes in the mucosal areas. There will be no kissing the baby's head or hands--that's a serious rule for everyone, including me).
I keep forgetting that I have a serious heart condition. I'm so worried about the baby, and about how he will be handled, that I am ignoring the fact that my first week after delivery is critical. I'm not only going to be dealing with the C-section (which will be my 4th abdominal surgery in 7 years' time); I'm going to be on cardiac watch. Because I survived it so well the last time (by the grace of God), and never had a relapse during my recovery, I don't think I'm taking that part of my aftercare very seriously. I'll have a newborn to care for, which is normally exhausting...coupled with a heart that doesn't necessarily work right. Somehow, I have to calm down.
Keep Calm, and Raise the Baby.
I find myself increasingly paranoid in social situations. It's why 3 weeks of solitary confinement are only just now beginning to get to me. I haven't had to deal with crowds, with strangers, or with trying to look nice. The only people who have seen me, are people who have seen me in worse shape, so I don't feel too bad about looking like a ragamuffin. I can sleep, pray, think, and obsessively watch "Bones."  But now, with the anxiety closing in, I'm starting to dislike being By Myself...yet I don't want anyone around, because frankly, the stress of making conversation is more than I can deal with (cue blood pressure!). I don't want to talk; some of the medications make me feel like I can't grasp the words I want, anyways, so it's kind of pointless. I've hunkered down, gotten hermit-ish, and I have limited communication to what I can type. It's easier for me to get my point across that way--for some reason, it's easier to find the words.
But as I sit here this morning, wishing I were asleep, the anxiety is like having a bug on you that you can feel, but just can't find. It's annoying, and peace is not coming. I've prayed, read, listened to IHOP-KC, switched to "ocean sounds", drank a glass of milk, ate a piece of chocolate, and now, blogged. Nothing is working.
I wish I had an end to this story...that I could say that God magically came in and granted me fairy-dust full of peace. The static in my head is drowning Him out, and that makes me sad--I need to hear His voice more than anything right now. I need to hear Him say this will be okay...
I need to know the ending of this chapter, even though I'm still in the middle.
Trusting Him when all you hear is your own teeth chattering, can be difficult.
Thoughts of Gideon come to mind (Judges 6). Gideon admits his position (least of the least of the families) and he constantly questions and tests God. Yet God honors him--He doesn't treat his tests or questions as insolence. He knows Gideon's just a human being...flawed...full of doubt...in need of a good glass of milk and a snuggle with the familiar...He calls Gideon to do crazy things, and he's terrified! Eventually, though, Gideon is smart enough to recognize that God is Who He says He is, and he learns to proceed without caution.
Up until this point, I've said I could do the same (albeit on a much smaller scale): Yay, God! You've walked us through this pregnancy! You've done great things! You've given us amazing doctors, and fantastic prenatal care, and everything is going to be fantastic!!!!!!!!
Now that we're getting toward the end, my bravado is waning...I'm worried about familial relationships, about guarding invisible doors, about offending people (that if they loved us, wouldn't be offended)...I'm worried about how we will deal with the day-to-day, when our caretakers are gone and it's just a husband, a wife, and a newborn that may or may not enjoy sleep. I'm worried about going back to work, and the paperwork I'll be facing upon my return.
Worry is such an annoying little sleep-depriver. Fear has grabbed me by the throat on so many occasions; it's a familiar foe. I'm not sure how much of this is hormonally-induced, and how much of it is spiritual. I think the Bible should have included a few chapters on Mary, Elizabeth, Hannah, Sarah, and every other woman who dealt with a special pregnancy. Like, "Sarah was totally stoked about the coolness of being pregnant at her advanced age, but every kick/jostle/snooze/weird-thing-that-happened totally freaked her out and she was a crying mess to Abraham on a daily basis. Even though she knew God loved her. And it all worked out okay." (I Cassidy 3:2) Or, "Elizabeth was totally surprised at her pregnancy, but since her husband had gotten himself stricken with muteness, she really didn't have a way to communicate her pregnancy and delivery wishes to him, so she hit him with a frying pan for getting himself into that mess. Even though she knew God loved her. And it all worked out okay." (II Cassidy 7:9) Or, "Joseph had a sobbing, pregnant teenager on his hands that he had no idea what to do with...So he stayed in his carpentry shop. Even though he knew God loved him. And it all worked out okay."  (II Cassidy 10:11)  If I were writing the Bible, I'd have to include SOMETHING regarding the emotional state of pregnancy...but NOOOOOO! Every woman who's pregnant in the Bible is some kind of emotionally-stable superhero who wears white and blue and STAYS CALM!!!!!!!!!!!
Grr.
Well, that's obviously NOT me. I'm a big scaredy-cat who thus far, has talked a big talk. Now I get to walk in it...I get to hurdle pregnancy hormones, physical weirdness, a lack of viable communication, solitary confinement, and cheese-brain, while still convincing myself that I'm doing a reasonable job of trusting God. I have failed on multiple occasions; I've sworn at lab-techs, cried about bagels that were missing cream cheese, and seriously considered going AWOL.  I am reminding myself that, my mental/physical flaws notwithstanding, I prayed for this moment. I trusted for this moment. I have to believe that the God Who brought me this far will stick it out with me through the end.
I have to accept that I will say stupid things...people will be offended, even in my own family. Hopefully, they will forgive me.
I have to be bold enough to say "no" at times, and to request that people respect my germ-avoidance and strong dislike of  dropping by without calling first.
I have to be kind, even when I want to reach over and choke someone (Mom says this is normal, at this stage).
Most of all,
I have to believe that He is faithful.
And I do...
Because without having that to hang on to, I will never be able to enjoy this experience the way He wants me to...and in spite of my struggle with fear and anxiety, believe me: I will never have an experience like this again. Every kick, every jostle, and every flip, is a reminder that God picked us...He picked us to parent this little guy. He chose us to be in this place, at this time, and He has orchestrated a beautiful dance of life for us to participate in...In that knowledge, and in that place, I know that I can find peace.
Nothing else matters...
Because I know that God loves me...
And everything will work out okay...