If there is one good thing I can say about pregnancy (and as of yet, I certainly don't have very many...) it is that I love the way that this process is binding my husband and I together, strengthening the bond made previously.
I hear that doing difficult things is good for you. We have had quite a lot of difficulties in our short 3 years of marriage. (Good heavens! Has it only been 3 years?) From the beginning it was rough. I am fully aware that many people's beginning years are far worse than ours. But ours have had their... uncomfortable moments. It reminds me of going to the doctor and getting poked and prodded, and they ask me how I'm doing. I'm uncomfortable. It could be worse. There is a 10 on that pain scale. So I tell them I'm fine, and I just try to deal with it until it's over. Going directly from the honeymoon weekend to living in his grandmother's mobile home with my father-in-law sleeping across the hall, things were uncomfortable from the get-go. I was grateful, certainly. But I also wanted a house, (or a mobile home, or an apartment,) with no one else in it. After a couple of months our place was liveable, so we were able to move.
I will spare you the details of our next year and a half, but suffice it to say... It was still uncomfortable. And throughout all of that time, I cannot say that I enjoyed the difficulty one bit. My husband and I fought about things. Sometimes they were worth it, and sometimes they weren't. In the first 6 months of marriage I remember thinking, We fight way more now than we ever did when we were dating. What is wrong with us? I no longer think anything was wrong with us. I hear it happens to most couples, and that first year and a half were hugely stressful. I contribute most of the fighting to that. I dwelt in a constant state of mild depression and complete overwhelmedness, (which spell check tells me is not a word. I disagree.)
Since we have relocated and gained a broader emotional/physical support system, things have been easier.
Enter our little Jelly Bean.
As you can read in my previous post, and if you've ever carried a child, you certainly know... This is most definitely one of the hardest things I have personally done. I am almost always an emotional wreck, and I am extremely needy. (You know those people who want to lock themselves away in a room while sick and stay in there until they feel better? I'm not one of those people. I just want to cry while you hold my hand. No, I'm serious. That's really what I want.)
Since nausea set in in week 6, I haven't cooked a real meal. Our house is liveable, with what my mother calls "discernible paths." I wash clothes when we run out of underwear. Or jeans. Or socks. Needless to say, my husband has to do most of the things around the house that get done, and he has to do them after a full work day. So the difficulty is mutual.
But throughout all of this, there are these little moments that I will cherish always. Moments like the ones where I erupt in tears, and all we do is hug, because really, what else is there to be done? When I look at him and say, "I know we had plans, but I just don't think I can make it today," and he looks at me and says, "Okay, we'll stay home." And that's okay. When in the middle of the night and he's dead asleep, he rolls over and rubs my belly. (And it's adorable.)
Through most of the difficulties that we've had, I've felt like there was some force trying to tear us apart. (And undoubtedly, there has been.) But this time, it is so special to have this difficult little growing life driving us closer together. It is supernatural in all of the good ways.
And it has only just begun.
