Ick.

Where to begin?

I’m all for fresh starts.

Mondays, the first of the month, New Years Day. Fresh starts thrill me. Fresh starts stir the goal setting maniac that resides not so far beneath the surface. But this year I am having a hard time stirring that beast. Truth be told, I’m tired, I’m emotional, I’m sick most every minute of every hour…

About three some odd months ago God got my (our) attention.

 

Like a two-by-four to the visage people.

WHACK! It was clear our family was not done growing. Call it a vision, premonition (stay with me here)... call it what you like, but it was very real and it happened to both Joel and I and then a few weeks later to our ten-year-old, and it was clear that we were missing a child.

Do you have warm fuzzies?

Well, I didn’t.

No. I had swearing. Weeping. And some serious gnashing of teeth. Submit? Hell no. I didn’t want to go down this path. I didn’t even want to set one toe down this path. A book just about to be released, an essential oil business blessed beyond my dreams and can I just be real… some pretty nice abs. I was a fireball of energy! The book was going to be done, homeschooling had FINALLY clicked for our family, baby goats, udders to milk, a new personal trainer and some killer workouts, plans to buy a new farm later in 2016…

SCREEEEEEECH!

God made it pretty clear I was to have another baby. Well, you know what God? If you could just drop that bad boy down into my lap I’d be fine with it. Babies, newborns and motherhood, for the most part, doesn’t faze me. God has blessed me with a VERY tall cup that takes a long time to fill (IE: it takes a lot for me to stroke out). But pregnancy? Just kill me. Cause I’m dying.

The last three months were supposed to be this time of hype and excitement…. dare I say… success? I was birthing my book after a year and a half of labouring on it. Instead, I’ve been curled up in the fetal position or puking up my spleen an average of fifteen times a day. The filth began to gather in the corners, the laundry began to reach the depth of the shallow end of a swimming pool, my hair got greasy and good lord – my thighs? What happened? I have no idea… but it’s terribly unjust considering the amount of food that has NOT stayed in my body for the last three months.

“I didn’t want this, I didn’t want this, I didn’t want this.” has been my mantra.

You see, as much as I long to be, apparently I am not that “Oh, God opens and closes the womb” woman.

Had you fooled didn’t I? 

I wish I was her, I mean… I sort of feel like I was. “Open to life” as my beautiful friend Rose calls it. But, if I was honest I’d tell you how happy I was to finally be “myself” after ten years of vomiting, newborns, nursing and diapers. Going away with my husband for the first time in a decade seemed a possibility. So did pastry classes in Chicago. Kayaking on the local river as a hobby. Antiquing with my Momma. I was TOTALLY into my groove and loving every minute of it.

I’m gonna be real honest with you in the hopes of maybe helping someone really struggling with another pregnancy who stumbles upon this blog post someday…

The cry of my heart has not changed from “I don’t want this” yet. Please understand, the “this” is not the beautiful baby inside me. I love this baby. I can smell him. Hear him. (Yes, we’re PRAYING for a “him”). It’s the sheer misery I’ve been in. My oesophagus will never be the same.

It’s the coming tailbone pain and excruciating hip pain, it’s the heart attach like heartburn and the labour… I can’t even think about the labour. See – I’m still in full-blown pity party stage. That happens when you’re throwing up all day. I rage “I don’t want this!” and a tiny, weak voice in my heart says, “Thy will be done.” But I’m telling you truthfully, right now, it’s a tiny, weak voice.

After a few days of sporadic relief, I am having another day here was I wonder HOW I will make it. My stomach is killing me. Every bite I put in my mouth destroys me.  My poor friends are so anxious for me to feel better, (I mean, I’d be sick of me by this point!!!) “How are you doing?” they ask, hoping for good news. I’ll be fourteen weeks by the year’s end – trust me – I long to give them some good news soon. I tell myself I will make it but sometimes I wonder if I’m going to crack up in the meantime. Truth be told, I cracked up like an hour ago.

Bad time.

When the clouds part and I find myself experiencing a couple hours of relief the old me comes back… at least she tries. I feel myself reaching down for my bootstraps cause I’m a bootstraps kind of girl, I reach out to my oil leaders, I try to promote my book a little, I make plans, set goals… all those “Ang” things… Run a load of laundry, vacuum a floor, make a phone call and put on some lipstick, I don’t know where I am going with this…

I do know one thing though – this whole drama has shown me the love of my true friends and my church family. Like, WOW. Friends that drove an hour out to the boonies here to deliver food, friends that just stopped by with chocolates and a hug (cause they knew I’d deny them entry if they called first), friends that came over, bossed my kids around, cleared my dishes and made dinner... friends that live clear across the country that had surprise pizza’s delivered on a day where I didn’t think I could make it one-more-second.

Then suddenly we found ourselves on the church list for meal delivery and in the two weeks before Christmas, we were blessed with three hot meals that I didn’t have to make.

It’s been BEAUTIFUL and it’s totally made an impression on my children… what it means to give.  I doubt they’ll ever forget it.

 

You Will Survive!! Love, Shaye

I know this too… somewhere deep down I know I can do this. God called me to this and with his help and abundant Grace I can do this.

It just doesn’t feel like it right now…

Thanks for reading. Angela Parisienne Farmgirl

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