he moves

One of the reassuring aspects of pregnancy that has really made a difference in the last couple of weeks is movement. For a while, I didn't think I would ever feel it. At my last ultrasound my placenta was anterior so I knew it would be a while longer.

The first time I felt him and knew without a doubt that's what it was I was just a few days past 22 weeks. I'm a few days past 25 weeks now and he keeps getting stronger. It's definitely a weird feeling that I'm not quite used to yet. Max even felt him once a few days ago and got super excited. It was really neat.

I am finally to the point that if I slow down and force myself to sit still for a few minutes I can almost always feel him. It has made me so much calmer and confident. Obviously I know that it doesn't guarantee anything. Something could still happen at any minute. But at least I am not sitting there wondering if he is still alive. He can prove it to me. Man that feels good.

There are times that he is moving so much I can't concentrate on anything else. And he is definitely to the point that some of the movements make me have to pee. Real bad :). He woke me up once this weekend with a super hard kick. I am so thankful for the reminder that he is growing and we are speeding toward February when he will be in my arms.

How unreal is that?

one hundred

I logged in today planning to post about movement. That will come tomorrow.

This is my 100th post. I can't tell if that seems like a lot or not. I would say it's a milestone for sure. This Sunday will also mark one year since my first post. What a year.

When I look back at the beginning of this blog journey, some things have changed and yet some things are exactly the same. Here is a quote from my very first entry.

"And surprisingly for me, as much as I hate paper sheet times, it's the time between the paper sheets that I'm most struggling with. Those times are lonely, dark and moody. They're emotional and emotionless. They are angry and hopeful, strengthening and heart breaking."

This is still so true. I feel all of those things in a single day related to the process of becoming a mother. The process of Max becoming a father. Will that ever change? Here's another:

"I wish this process of procreation could be about the time between the 600 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. About love, intimacy and trust. But alas, for some mysterious reason, this journey is about the paper sheets. About science, calendars and money."

Looking back, I think this is wrong. I believe that what I have felt and developed most over the last 99 posts is love, intimacy and trust. This journey definitely brought Max and I closer together. I have developed relationships with friends who I have walked alongside. Celebrated with and shared in devastation. I have learned to trust myself and others enough to let someone in.

Through the heartbreak of a miscarriage, the painful birth of a niece, the hope of a positive, and the anxiety of a pregnancy, I loved and trusted and felt loved and trusted.

I am so thankful for this space and the people it has brought into my life.

out of control

Emotions are running heavy this week. Obviously, I've struggled with posting. I've tried. I've committed to myself that I will. Many times. I've started posts and written them in my head. But something holds me back.

But just because I haven't been posting, doesn't mean I haven't been reading. I check my reader several times a day. I comment. I think about this community and our stories. I shout and laugh with joy when I read good news. I cry when I read the bad news. I sit on pins and needles as I wait for betas and ultrasounds. I hope. But I stay silent here.

For whatever reason, the last few days have gotten to me. There has been good news and bad news. Posts that rip out my heart with the desperation of someone who is, well, desperate. Posts that bring me to tears with grief and longing. And posts that stick in my head and make me think all day long about this crazy reality and the choices we make.

It is unreal me to me what people in this community go through. The amount of loss and fear and joy and hope. And the words, your words, make me feel your loss and fear and joy and hope like it is my own. My heart is heavy and full. It's so much to process.

DAMN IT. I want uncontrollable joy. For all of us.

As I sit here on the eve of viability, the emotions begin to get out of control. I am thankful and happy. Scared and in disbelief. Guilty and undeserving. With the knowledge that there are no guarantees. I am not promised anything.