Expecting

I’ll start this blog off with a warning – there will be triggers, particularly for those trying to conceive.

I’ve not once hidden my feelings on here, so it would be a shame to start now. It would defeat the entire purpose of this blog, anyway.

I discovered on Friday that John and I are pregnant again. This was unplanned, as we had decided to wait a few more months to actively try and had, these last few months, taken extra care to not get pregnant.

Nature found a way, despite the fact that I don’t feel ready.

I think I’m still in shock – days later – and haven’t fully digested the information. In my plan, I had a few months to mentally gear up, maybe look at baby things and get in the spirit – it’s hard not to get excited while looking at adorable little girl dresses, tiny baby boy shoes and all the neat toys and accessories that are out now. Then we would start trying, I would buy pregnancy tests, get excited at the tiniest hint of nausea and figure out a creative way to tell John when we got our positive.

My plans never work out…should have seen that one coming.

I feel almost guilty writing this – there are so many mommies-to-be out there who don’t get the opportunity to discover an unplanned pregnancy, many women who suffer repeated miscarriages, and those who have difficulty carrying their children to term.

But, this is about me. So, with a respectful nod of acknowledgement to those unfortunate women out there who struggle with similar issues, I’m forging ahead with what I feel.

Which is funny, because I am unsure of how I feel. I really don’t know. I’m not elated, excited or exactly happy. I don’t feel pregnant in the way that I should – morning sickness, dizziness and a strong sense of smell are all present. The joy is missing. The grief is still there.

I knew I would be grieving for Brayden still, be it a month or year or ten years from now. I didn’t expect it to absolutely eclipse any happiness I would have in a future pregnancy. I didn’t expect to receive congratulations with a frozen smile and a not-so-believable lie about how I’m excited, too.

Because I’m not excited, and it breaks my heart to say that.

I really hate that I feel this way. I’ve been trying to shake it, doing everything in my power to change my way of thinking. Nothing is working. I feel less than happy – in fact, I feel almost nothing. Void. Empty. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t expect this pregnancy to carry out – like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I would suppose those feelings are normal. I would also suppose that it’s me just protecting me on some level I don’t understand and can’t change. It doesn’t mean I like it – I just don’t get it. It’s not fair to the new baby, and it’s not fair to me.

John is more than excited, which lifts me up just a little. To see him so happy after what we’ve been through means the world to me. Why, then, can’t I be that happy? I just feel…nothing.

It’s only been six months, but it’s been a lifetime. I’m not scared like I’d thought I’d be. I’m not nervous. I’m not anything. I’m here, and I’m pregnant. That’s about the extent of my thoughts at this point.

I’m not sure how to snap out of this. I just feel…sad. What’s wrong with me?