Baby Girls and Real Feelings.

I love to write. It helps me process my feelings and thoughts, and it makes me feel like I can offer something to others in hopes of encouraging them or helping them see that they're not isolated in various aspects of life. But sometimes when my feelings aren't clear cut or they're rough around the edges, its so difficult for me to shape them in a way that seem beautiful or funny or relatable. I never want to leave people feeling like I just Debbie Downered them or that I word vomited all over them just for the sake of being heard. Some things are simply best left to one's personal journal. But what happens when your feelings aren't pretty? When they're rough around the edges, and you're not sure how to smooth them out to make them presentable? What do you do when you know you're in a vulnerable place and you know just saying something out loud will help resolve some of what you're feeling, but you're scared of how it sounds?

I've written three blog posts over the last few weeks about my current pregnancy. The first one was funny, the second just felt jumbled, and the third I wrote after a long hysterical crying session so I figured it was better saved for my own personal records. I'm an ugly crier and for sure an ugly, emotional writer when the hormones are raging. Ain't nobody needs to read that, am I right? My best writing typically takes place at the tail end of working out my thoughts and feelings, and it just helps me put the final touches on something I'm learning or experiencing. I've been waiting for that for about 34 weeks, and to be honest I'm not sure it will completely come until mid March when this baby makes her way out of my body. Following the days after Nora's birth, I realized how much I didn't feel like myself during my pregnancy with her. My hormones were crazy, my body didn't feel like my own, I was nauseous all but two weeks of the pregnancy, and the cool facial rash I got towards the end didn't help me settle into the role. Once she was born I soared into motherhood, and loved the new, little person that was half of me and half of the person I love the most. I just didn't realize how pregnancy had overtaken my thoughts and feelings until after it was over.

During the course of this pregnancy, I've been battling my feelings with logic, and Chris will be the first to tell you that some days are better than others. On my emotionally low days, I have felt so isolated, overwhelmed, and guilty. When people ask me how I'm feeling, how can I say that I'm struggling with the idea of having this baby? I'm happily married and have a child in her second year of life...this pregnancy is a natural progression for any American family, right? Why do I sometimes feel so emotionally disconnected from this baby that I daily feel moving and growing inside of me? It has made me feel abnormal, like a bad mom, and like I'm alone. Originally we were planning to be surprised by the baby's gender, but we cheated and found out that we are having a girl. I felt so surprised when we read "GIRL" on the sticky note the ultrasound tech had given me. This pregnancy has been so different, I really thought it was a boy. Over the last few weeks disappointment about the gender has lingered, and again I've felt guilty. There are so many people who have lost their babies during various points in pregnancy or haven't even been able to get pregnant at all, and I'm over hear sulking because we're having another girl. (First world problems, I know.) But I haven't felt like I could say out loud that I wanted a boy. I wanted a boy for Chris, so that two sisters wouldn't have to deal with constant comparison as they grew, to negate the rocky sister relational experience I had growing up, and so that people would be excited rather than responding with "another girl, huh?" Rude by the way. But that's another post in and of itself. I didn't want to pretend I was crazy excited for "another girl" by lacking authenticity so we haven't gone out of our way to announce the gender.

And then to top off my already compromising feelings, every person I've talked to about going from one child to two has been brutally honest with how hard it is. Even the lady at ChickfilA felt the need to leave the sugar coating at the door. Now don't get me wrong. I value and appreciate honestly, but I wish maybe one person would just lie to me and tell me it's easy. No big deal. Mom's have gone through this transition for centuries, right? Even if people couldn't bring themselves to lie to me I wish someone would have simply followed up with an encouragement that it is doable, and I will survive. Some sort of light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes as moms we just need someone to look us in the eye in all honesty and remind us that the hard things about motherhood are temporary; that they rotate with the beautiful things about it and that at the end of the day (or toddler years) that what it does for our hearts far outweighs how it stretches us and drains us.

Maybe this post is a confession of sorts. A confession that on some days, I struggle with the idea of sharing our family with another being. I love our little team of three, and the thought of another person jumping in makes me sad sometimes. I'm not sure how I'll love baby H as much as I do Nora. I know I will; I know my heart will take over and I'll fall in love and that I'll love them both differently and the same. But today that transition feels emotional, and the change makes me want to cry. A confession that I wanted a boy but we're having a girl, and that trusting that God has this specific girl, for this specific family, at this specific time is better than anything I could have chosen for myself or our family is hard for me. A confession that although pregnancy is certainly wonderful and beautiful and that it's a miracle and gift every single time that for me it can feel exhausting, daunting, and draining. Maybe I just needed to say these things out loud (to someone other than Chris, bless his heart) or maybe I just needed to write out these thoughts and feelings to help them resolve. And maybe someone else needed to know that there's no right or wrong way to feel about life changes, even the sweetest ones, and that it's okay if you process or feel differently than most of the world at large. And sometimes we just need to call the lie's in our lives bluff when darkness wants to whisper discouragement in our ears and simply acknowledge that our feelings are real but not always true.

This is real life. I'm still learning how to refine some of my raw feelings and trying to be disciplined to push through the ones I know aren't beneficial to me or those around me. Real life means we're often in the middle of progress, of change, of growth. We're often in the trenches of being refined, and so many times that doesn't look or sound pretty. Life is messy if we're being honest with ourselves and each other, and although there's no need to air our dirty laundry to the masses, I do believe there's value in being honest and genuine. No one benefits from illusions of perfection. That only isolates us from one another more.

At the end of the day, my heart does want this baby. I can't wait to hold her and see her face and share her with Nora, who by the way can hardly wait until she's a big sister. I know our family will be better because she's ours, and I know having two girls will be a special kind of crazy that I wouldn't trade for anything else. Change is hard, but change is good, and I'm as ready as I'll ever be for this new change. But for the record I may need large quantities of sweat pants, milk shakes, and Netflix to get us over the initial hump. And I'm okay with that.