“ Do not fear for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned…

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” -Isaiah 43

Damaged, dry, desolate, lacking.

With all the many blessings that surround me daily; with health, family, friends, safety and freedoms… I’m dry. A vacuum. I’m living in a wasteland. Every morning I place my hands on my belly. I take a deep breath and attempt to at least utter a plea to God. Every morning all I can voice is, “I’ve got nothing.” Nothing. I’ve got nothing to say. Nothing to ask. No appeal. No defence. I still continue to drag myself to church on Sundays. The music is suffocating. It’s moving. It’s a battle to endure. I will not let myself be taken by it. Every word now bares so much weight. Too much weight. I’m blessed, but angry. I’m faithful, but filled with doubt. I’m grateful, but silent. I’m still damaged, but remain. Life’s moved on, but I’m stagnant. I feel as if I’m destined to feel this way forever.

 Someone fix me.

I’m now 15 weeks and 6 days. The time has arrived for my next ultrasound. The ‘early anomaly scan’ can be done from 15 weeks and is the earliest time any ‘anomalies’ can be detected, hence its name. It’s amazing that only in these short few weeks since the last scan, everything is in existence. Everything should now be in its right place. It’s also the earliest that gender can be accurately determined. The great debate… to find out or not? We’ve already decided we want to know. I need to know. I need to imagine him/her into health. I’m already convinced it’s a girl.

I let hubby come in this time. Our doc does his work as I stare intently at his face looking for clues. He catches my eye; “If I’m quiet and say nothing, it is a good thing”, he assures.

“Perfect health. Your baby is perfectly healthy. Nothing like last time.”

Does this mean we can breathe now? Before we leave, we ask the doc if he knows the gender. With a chuckle he exclaims “YES!” and scans back over my tummy. He makes conversation asking us what we think we’re having. Hubby can tell instantaneously. I have no idea what I’m looking at. It’s a black and white blobby puzzle. The doc explains, “That’s the legs wide open… and that’s…”

A boy!

I’m in disbelief. A little man. A son. Our son.

With the news of health we have received, it’s finally time to go ‘public’. School holidays are nearly over, so the timing has worked out well. There’s no more hiding this stomach. We make it Facebook official with a cutesy family photo. It’s fake. There were no smiles before or after that shot, which was taken with my phone on timer hitched up on our garbage bin. For me, however, it’s a testament of things to come. For now we are fearful, but one day I will look back at that photo and feel joy. I will be grateful we did it. I will… I believe it. It will be my self-fulfilling prophecy. No more denying. Toughen up that skin. Get that smile ready. You’ve got the world to fool. All is ok. You are blessed. You’re ready for this.

Do not fear. I will be with you. Do not dwell on the past. I am doing a new thing.

With all this news of health, the arid residual air still breathes through me.

I’m bone dry. I’m getting desperate.

God, please send your stream. I’m tired of living in this wasteland.

What if I fall?

 Oh, my darling, what if you fly?

“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears”- Nelson Mandela

“Come dressed as something starting with ‘B’!” It’s my big bro’s 30th party, the day after the scan, and we’ve decided to keep our news quiet until tomorrow. You wouldn’t believe it, but the whole world doesn’t actually revolve around me. Something starting with ‘B’…hmmm… Maybe I can go as bloated? Or bossy? Or maybe I could just go as a pair of sore boobs? Or a bucket of bile? I seem to already be all these things! Save cost? Considering all things, we eventually end up going as ‘bogans’, which surprisingly (or not) didn’t require too much altering to our natural appearances… stick on tattoos, rolling stones singlets, a chopper mo. Voilà! Do you think the sealed beer I’m holding is fooling anyone? 

The anticipated day has arrived. It’s the next day and we’re finally going to share the news. Does that make it more real now? At one of the regular family summer gatherings, we nervously reveal our ‘secret’.

My mum stared at the ultrasound in disbelief, as if she’d been blind-sighted. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Even all the comments of suspicion she’d received from others over the last few weeks hadn’t aroused any scent of our secret. Surprise, mum! My brothers and sisters, however, confessed that they’d already come to the conclusion that I was either pregnant or just getting fat. Gosh, I mustn’t have hid it very well at all! Our news is welcomed with gladness as  expected, even with my stern warning to not tell anyone. With this revelation, I feel a little bit of weight has lift.

But the jinx continues…

I am in no way superstitious, but I feel that every decision, every move and every thought is shadowed with this idea of ‘jinx’. Jinx is dictating me. Don’t get excited, you’ll jinx yourself. Don’t get too comfortable… or jinx! Don’t do anything too thoughtful… that’s a definite jinx! Don’t put your heart on the line. Dont’ feel. Don’t celebrate. Don’t harbour joy. Don’t shelter expectation or you’ll jinx it all. I feel it… and I’m starting to believe it.

Jinx has plagued me for a while.

I’ve managed my predisposition and anxious inclinations since I was quite young. No, I’m not insane (or maybe I am?) and I’m aware when my thoughts and feelings are irrational. Don’t confuse me with being ‘fussy’. I am, but I’m not. Imagine having  uncontrollable intrusive thoughts and feelings of anxiety. Imagine feeling that your day-to-day actions somehow have a direct dire consequence on loved ones or on the world around you. Imagine if you felt that your repetitive rituals were the only way to relieve your anxieties and to appease those thoughts or feelings. Imagine the spin if you had feelings that all things were ‘ensouled’, or felt the drag that your little, habitual ways just may be keeping the world ‘in balance’.

 Luckily, in my teens, I became aware of these thoughts, anxieties and attachment to ‘things’. Since then, I’ve made a conscious effort to eliminate all rituals and regularly throw, or give away items to avoid accumulating ‘stuff’. I’ve learnt to simply let things go. All things; untidy things, crooked things, sentimental thing, unnecessary things. I could make serious dollars working for one of those ‘declutter-your-life-hoarder-type’ shows! Need someone to throw something out for you? Need some paperwork organised? Call me! It’s amazing how much power you can  enforce on your own mind when you grab it by the horns and compel it to yeild… but of late, I feel my grip is slipping. This idea that any gesture or thought will jinx this baby needs to stop… and it needs to stop now. 

We’ve decided to share the news with a handful of friends. I feel this may be an opportunity to try and celebrate the news without thinking that I’m setting myself up for more hurt. So to redeem myself – to take back control – I think of a more creative manner to share the news in a way that will draw the attention away from the fragility of the situation, and focus on the goodness in my gestation reveal.

Something simple… something thoughtful…  Cupcakes? What an idea! Instead of my dear friends staring at me with eyes of “this is wonderful news after the crappy news you gave us last time”, at least now they have something sweet to stare at instead… and even better, I don’t have to say a word. Perfect! I’m making progress at least. A little parcel of cupcake goodness will be my bearer of good news.

And with this progress, I decide it’s time to finally take a belly photo. You wouldn’t understand how hard this decision was and to convince myself that the camera won’t jinx me! I made the decision in such haste that I forgot my pants, but let’s be honest, no pants are the best kind of pants anyway. Photo one: 13 weeks and already 5kg heavier.

No more cupcakes for you dear…

“Reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’  the loss; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again, but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to.” -Kubler-Ross & Kessler