Hope. It seems like a simple enough feeling. Most people experience hope as soon as they see that little plus sign. Or, hope may be "born," so to speak, when a mother first hears her baby's heart beat on an ultrasound. As difficult as this entry is for me to write, it's essential to your understanding of how we approached this pregnancy.
Hope is elusive to us, especially to me. We can't seem to find it, no matter how hard we try. We are afraid of hope. We are afraid to hope. Hope, to us, seems like we're setting ourselves up to be let down in a cataclysmic kind of way.
You see, we hoped in our first pregnancy...only to collapse in each other's arms after the loss. We hoped in the second pregnancy, only to cry, mourn, and question our fate and our marriage.
Hope seems to breed grief in our circumstances. Anytime we get "high" on hope, we experience a terrifying fall into the pits of grief. We don't want to hope. It's almost as if hoping is some sort of curse. In some subconscious way, I think "if I don't hope, it won't hurt as much when I fall." It's like I'm roller skating for the first time. If I strap on the knee pads of realism and perhaps even pessimism, it won't hurt when I fall. On the other hand, hope makes me feel as if I'm roller skating at 20 miles per hour with no pads towards a brick wall. In short, hope makes me feel vulnerable. I'll say that again, hope makes me feel vulnerable.
I'll take a break here and say that if you haven't watched Brene Brown's Ted Talk on vulnerability, you need to. Right now. She's my guru.
Ok, we're back. So many of you may wonder...
Why the secrecy?
Don't they trust us?
Wouldn't they want to shout this news from the rooftops?
Well, given that you now understand my fears and my struggle with being vulnerable, hopefully you understand why we did what we did. The doctors told us we may never make it to 24 weeks, much less any further. There were doubts and threats everywhere.
We really wanted to cleave to each other, hope for the best, and pray that God blessed us with a family. We trusted that our friends would be able to celebrate with us as soon as we were ready and able.
We hope you understand and now that we are celebrating 29 weeks this week, perhaps maybe some of that ever-elusive hope will start creeping into our world.
Hope is elusive to us, especially to me. We can't seem to find it, no matter how hard we try. We are afraid of hope. We are afraid to hope. Hope, to us, seems like we're setting ourselves up to be let down in a cataclysmic kind of way.
You see, we hoped in our first pregnancy...only to collapse in each other's arms after the loss. We hoped in the second pregnancy, only to cry, mourn, and question our fate and our marriage.
Hope seems to breed grief in our circumstances. Anytime we get "high" on hope, we experience a terrifying fall into the pits of grief. We don't want to hope. It's almost as if hoping is some sort of curse. In some subconscious way, I think "if I don't hope, it won't hurt as much when I fall." It's like I'm roller skating for the first time. If I strap on the knee pads of realism and perhaps even pessimism, it won't hurt when I fall. On the other hand, hope makes me feel as if I'm roller skating at 20 miles per hour with no pads towards a brick wall. In short, hope makes me feel vulnerable. I'll say that again, hope makes me feel vulnerable.
I'll take a break here and say that if you haven't watched Brene Brown's Ted Talk on vulnerability, you need to. Right now. She's my guru.
Why the secrecy?
Don't they trust us?
Wouldn't they want to shout this news from the rooftops?
Well, given that you now understand my fears and my struggle with being vulnerable, hopefully you understand why we did what we did. The doctors told us we may never make it to 24 weeks, much less any further. There were doubts and threats everywhere.
We really wanted to cleave to each other, hope for the best, and pray that God blessed us with a family. We trusted that our friends would be able to celebrate with us as soon as we were ready and able.
We hope you understand and now that we are celebrating 29 weeks this week, perhaps maybe some of that ever-elusive hope will start creeping into our world.
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