An Update from Rivendell

With only 24 days left before our planned induction, I find my initial thoughts on the complications of rest in a time of anxious anticipation completely on target. In the quiet of the day when there is nothing to do but think, I am confronted with the reality of what is before us. The feeling settles like a melancholic stone in the stomach- it is a combination of fear and a sense of entrapment that can make the strongest spirit wither. Of course, there are parts of each day which are filled with fun and laughter and I hold on to those beautiful spots the way a social-media-crazed teenager clings to their smart phone, but the depth of emotion is found in the quiet spots when I am confronted by the stark reality that, very soon, I will have to watch my infant son be wheeled into an OR to be split open and rewired for his very survival. This act and all the emotions I already deeply feel surrounding this future inevitability strikes me at my very core. Like Frodo's wound from the battle at Weathertop, I carry a similar ghost-pain which sometimes surprises me with its intensity and its ability to steal my joy.

If you have been reading this blog, you may notice a stark contrast in the tone of this post. We have been hopeful and fearful by equal turns and I make no apology for the fact that, right now, I'm in a bit of a trough. I would like to tell you I am going to be alright, but in the last moments of the evening- that space between waking and sleeping, my heart is heavy and I struggle to see how I will survive the initial days following delivery. Don't get me wrong, I am still very grateful we are walking into this next stage with our eyes fully open, but knowing what is going to happen- what has to happen- has produced a very sharp, double-edged sword I cut myself on daily. The only remedy is to give it all over to the One who is mighty to save- to hold up my bleeding hands in surrender. 

From a purely physical standpoint, there is a bitter irony of being horribly uncomfortable at 35 & 1/2 weeks pregnant with this little one. On the one hand, I am breathless and achy for most of my day- sweeping this evening had me wanting to take a nap and I had to pause halfway up our new stairs to catch my breath. Additionally, this little boy will surpass Eliza's birth weight in the next couple of weeks, if not sooner- he's currently in the 71st percentile for size. I need help getting out of bed in the mornings and, honestly, if someone could just put me in a massive tank of water on wheels and cart me to and from work for the next 3 weeks, that would be ideal. Needless to say, I have officially hit the "pregnancy wall" wherein I am desperate to have my body back as early as yesterday. On the other hand, getting my body back also means the start of a very long haul for our family- our time in Rivendell officially over and the hardest parts of our journey at hand.

Right now, Liam is safe and sound within me- the safest he will ever be in this world and I am the perfect picture of physical misery. I think Jospeh Heller would acquiesce to the use of his coined term, "Catch-22," in this instance. The push and pull between the body and the heart is an every day battle. This little boy needs to sit tight for 3 more weeks so he can be ready for what is to come and I need to find a way to be grateful for every second of every day he does.

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