Preparing

I remember my first pregnancy. The insomnia really took me by surprise. After baby was born, somebody said, "I think the insomnia in pregnancy is God's way of preparing us for the shock of not sleeping after baby comes."

It made sense on some level and I realized that pregnancy on a whole is nature's--if not God's--or is there any difference?--way of preparing us for parenthood. The sleepless nights, the bad health, the emotional ups and downs--they're just one big reminder that your life is no longer your own. You've made the decision to lay down your life for your child and hope to some day come out of the chrysalis of parenthood as a stronger, more beautiful person. Some day.

Strangely, I didn't have insomnia while pregnant with the twins. You'd think I'd need all the preparation I could get for the transition of going from one child to three children. In retrospect, my biggest problems the year the twins were born had nothing to do with the twins. They had easy temperaments and were very forgiving, even if the logistics of feeding and diapering two newborns was overwhelming.

So what is up with the insomnia this time around? It makes my first-pregnancy insomnia seem insignificant. It was an annoyance, but this is just unbearable. I worry that this is a sign. A sign that this baby will not be mellow like the twins were. That my life is about to get its' biggest shakeup yet. That the challenges of raising three children are insignificant compared to life with four.

I can't help it. I am telling myself that God is not trying to send me a warning. Right? I mean, that would just be cruel, right? Unless... unless... unless I really need to be prepared for the maelstrom that is about to touch ground in Juliana-land. Like... a baby with Down Syndrome? A baby with severe physical limitations like, I don't know, no mouth? A baby whose personality brings new meaning to the term "a child only a mother could love"?

I think about how I already love this little child and cannot wait to gently touch my finger to her soft, newborn cheek and hold her tiny, fragile body next to my shoulder. I think about all the promises of the future--seeing her mature and become a beautiful girl, a young woman, a bride, a mother of my grandchildren. And I think I would do anything for her, whatever her limitations are. But what if those limitations immediately send those dreams crashing to earth?

I don't dwell on this often. It's just a passing thought and gives me little anxiety. But it reminds me to be grateful for everything around me now--not just the solid blessings of health and prosperity and three beautiful children that make me laugh out loud every day, but for the hopes and promises that make the future worth facing.

The skies are blue and it's going to be a beautiful day.