Once upon a time, I hardly ever worried about anything.
This was way back in the good old days!
But that’s the beauty of youth. An inexperienced mind and innocent life, equals a simple status.
As time ticks by, none of us are left unscathed. Unfortunately the suffering is not always in fair measures. Whilst one person may be unlucky with a relatively small situation, their neighbour or friend will receive a devastating blow, changing their life forever.
And what follows these small situations and devastating blows? Most of the time we worry. We can worry about the future outcome, the reoccurrences, or the affect the latest drama has on his or her life.
This is when you realise life is no longer uncomplicated. The days when your biggest concern being which ice-cream flavour to choose, are long gone.
I would say I enjoy life on a whole. I’m usually always cheerful. But over the years I can’t help noticing my increased worry levels. Why? Well, things happen, dear readers. These things can make us feel less calm and more vulnerable. Even if they haven’t personally happened to us, we will probably have read about it, or wiped a friend’s tears whilst they’ve told us about it.
When I finally found out I was pregnant, after months of hoping, I was ecstatic.
Then I worried.
This kind of surprised me. I did not expect to worry so much. As a younger woman I’d imagined and dreamed of the day I fell pregnant. As an older, more wordly-wise woman, I was painfully aware of statistics and friend’s experiences.
I also think google has a lot to answer for!
It’s far too easy to investigate information on the internet, from the convenience of your hand.
Sometimes ignorance is indeed bliss, yet I couldn’t help absorbing all the facts and horror stories the world had to offer regarding pregnancy.
I was the wrong side of 35 and I read with concern the chances of miscarrying.
Next I realised I was considered high risk for downs syndrome.
And I panicked when I discovered the food to avoid, and remembered I’d eaten pate on toast the night before, in my naïve non pregnancy state of mind. Had I unknowingly harmed my unborn child with the possible nasty bacteria?!
Wow, I couldn’t help thinking, my first taste of being a parent. They say it gets worse. “You wait until the teenage years,” I've heard on more than one occasion.
I’m sorry to report I have friends who’ve been dealt a cruel hand with pregnancy, and my sympathy for them seemed only too raw in my early pregnancy days.
It also doesn’t help matters that I have an exceedingly ambitious and vivid imagination. I feel this is a blessing and a curse. I startle myself sometimes with all the scenarios and conversations I imagine in my head. Some days I’m amused, and I really want to sit down and write this book I keep promising myself. Others days, I am aghast and think, “What did you have to go and imagine that for? You’ve surpassed yourself Nikki!”
Yep, I’m often telling myself off.
Although, dearest readers, it gives me great pleasure to clarify, so far so good. I've made it to nearly 15 weeks and all is well.
My first trimester has passed with flying pink colours.
We saw our little baba for the first time at 12 weeks. It really was the most amazing point of hubby and I’s life.
As I lay on the black couch, with the scanner on my little bulge, I silently prayed for positive news, “Please, please God, let everything be okay.”
Thankfully there was no need to fret. Our baby was alive and kicking and all measurements were considered normal.
We saw his/her tiny legs moving and it’s delicate heart beating.
We watched in awe, hardly able to believe that we had created this little person.
For those few, precious, moments, all my past worries and insecurities melted away.
Hubby and I looked at each other, and promptly burst into tears.