Before I got pregnant with our third baby, my husband and I knew this would be our last baby (and although our hearts are always open, no more babies is still where we feel called at the moment). And I wanted to cherish this pregnancy to the very last day. I had easy, relatively symptom-free pregnancies with both my boys and fully expected that with another baby.
And then it wasn't.
The week after I found out I was pregnant, the nausea kicked in. And the insomnia. And anxiety. And loneliness and isolation.
And those symptoms and feelings stayed with me all the way through my pregnancy.
I was so disappointed. I felt awful all the time. I felt like a terrible mama to my boys. I wanted this new baby so desperately, but I spent my days crying in my bathroom, repeating to myself over and over that it would be worth it. I didn't take any cute weekly pictures of a growing bump - it was all I could do to get dressed most days. I lost weight, then gained it back and more. Instead of treasuring my days carrying my little girl, every week that passed was just one less week that I had left being pregnant. And I was ashamed of those feelings. I knew there were so many women who would give anything to be pregnant and I just couldn't wait not to be pregnant.
And then she was here. The forty weeks that had dragged were gone.
And it was true, it was worth it. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat for this little girl (or any of my sweet babies).
So, take heart, dear ones, if you are struggling. It is worth it.
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