|Photo Credit Dan Taylor|
In three days we should have our new little bundle of blessings.
It’s so scary, and surreal. I still don’t feel like the day is ever going to get here. I still keep fearing that I am going to wake up and it will all be a dream.
So many nights I have woken up in a panic. Laid there thinking, this is a dream. Having to physically touch my growing belly to make sure it was there because I didn’t feel pregnant.
Just as many night I have woken up from nightmares of tragedy. Things going wrong. Fear, pain, empty arms again.
I want to be excited and anxious but I think I am really just scared. Scared that this will all be a dream, a ruse, a mistake. That my arms will still ache with emptiness.
It’s planned, it’s scheduled. On Thursday we are supposed to have a baby. How many times have I made plans and had God laugh? How many times has my path changed direction? Have I headed off confidently knowing where I was going only end up lost and confused?
I want to have trust and faith that this is the direction, the path, the plan. But I have a hard time accepting reality and my own lack of control.
They will be the longest and shortest days of my life.