Worrying

I had a scare the Saturday before last. We were in Tahiti for a friend's wedding to be held that evening. Sometime in the late morning, I went to the bathroom, and as I usually do, I looked down to make sure I didn't see anything unusual. When I wiped myself, I saw a smudge of blood. The sight of it stopped my breath. The first thing to come to mind was, oh, no, not again. I walked out of the bathroom, crying and muttering, not again, not again. I went to Jeff and bawled for a good thirty minutes. Then we just lay in bed for a while, afraid to move.

I wondered what was wrong with my body and if it was defective somehow. I feared that motherhood would be denied to me. And I regretted having made the trip to Tahiti. We had taken the 8 1/2 hour flight two days earlier, and even though my doctor said flying was safe, I kept hearing the voice of my mother who had repeatedly admonished against traveling during early pregnancy.

I waited for the cramps to start. An hour passed, then two, then three. Nothing. Then we dressed for the wedding and celebrated my friend's happy day with preoccupied minds. We left the reception early after dinner and lay in bed, waiting again for a repeat of what happened the last time. Every time I went to the bathroom, I scrutinized the bowl. Nothing.

We passed the next day and the day after straddling apprehension and hope. The day after brought us cautious optimism. It is now over 10 days later and I seem to be still very much pregnant. All I can think about is getting past the next three weeks until I hit my second trimester.

When I brought this up with another pregnant friend of mine yesterday, she reminded me that we are signing up for a lifetime of worrying. Just wait til the kid hits puberty. I'll have to start working on my worry face now...