27 weeks and 6 days pregnant, and I've officially had my first moment of explicitly believing that I am a terrible mama.
Full disclosure: I may or may not be posting about this because I want all of you to tell me that it wasn't my fault, and I am a wonderful mama, and it is just the pregnancy hormones speaking evil to me.
Last night I went on a desperation run to the corner store in search of something quick and cheap for dinner. It was a long day at work, and frankly that was all I could seem to muster as far as meal planning. I ended up with a can of ravioli, and there is a large part of me that believes (irrationally) that my choice of processed food led to some wicked karma (I know, I know) as I left the store.
I paid for my family-size can of ravioli and headed out the door, cutting slightly across the sidewalk because I parked around to the left side of the store. Well, said sidewalk happens to be just a touch uneven, and I do not have the balance and agility that I once possessed twenty-something pounds ago. It was simultaneously slow-motion, and faster than I could react. Down I tumbled onto the sidewalk. Thankfully I landed on all the most padded parts of my admittedly well-padded self - mainly on my side, which means my leg and cushy tush bore the brunt of the impact. But I think my belly at least bumped the sidewalk a little bit, because I instantly entered panic mode worrying about the baby. A couple of well-intentioned young men asked if I was ok, and since I was able to get up by myself (a small miracle, when I think about what it takes to get up off the couch most days) and walk it off, I answered in the affirmative.
But once I was in the car? A torrent of emotions overtook me, and I immediately began to cry. This did not help my efforts to prod my belly for baby movement, since my crying was causing my tummy muscles to contract all over the place. I was a mess, I promise you.
Now for the icing on the cake: We live within a five-ish minute walk from the corner store. Just up Main Street. No biggie, right? Well. When I left the store, the universe decided to completely thumb its nose at me by holding a parade on Main Street. At 7:00 p.m. on a Wednesday night. The street was blocked, and I was not permitted to turn left toward my home.
There may have been a few more tears shed at this juncture.
But not many, because how hard is it to circle a few blocks and go home by a different route? Mentally calculating - I can't circle right because of the park behind our house, but if I circle around the other way I can come out almost directly across from our driveway. They have to let me use Main Street to pull into my own home, don't they? Don't they??? Ok, deep breath, we can get home.
Mind you, I was still emotionally fragile at this point, but even at my worst I can drive around the block to get home. Or so I thought.
I turned left onto Broad Street and discovered....the parade lineup. Complete with roadblock and fire engines. Deep breath. Ok, let's turn right and go down the next block. Which happens to be a dark alley that dead-ends at somebody's garage. Oh universe, how you hate me.
A few more tears were absolutely shed at this point, stretching my three-point turn into an eight-ish-point turn, but I made it back out of said dark alley. Thankfully my emotional havoc did not completely neutralize my problem-solving skills, and I did eventually make it home.
But when that parade went by, you better believe I sat with my back to the front porch and thought hateful thoughts.
Oh right, back to the point of the post. Sitting at home and devouring my canned ravioli, I berated myself for my laziness with food planning, which led to my choice to purchase cheap processed food for dinner, which led to me falling and possibly RUINING our baby, and which also led to me nearly not surviving the drive home from the blasted corner store. My mind, it can be dramatic. And for the first time, it told me that I am a terrible mama and how can I be trusted with the innocent life of a tiny, helpless human being?
It's ok now, I am better, and the baby still has a heartbeat and soccer-playing kicks and everything. But I thought I would be honest about how this experience shook me. I have certainly learned to be more careful, and to wear mountain climbing shoes and padded gear when I go out at night. I have learned not to take the well-being of my baby for granted, and that my weaknesses and carelessness no longer impact only myself. Everything I do is for my child, for my family. What a sobering, yet empowering, thought.
Thank you, Lord, for this lesson. Thank you that because you have called me yours, I don't have to wonder whether the universe hates me, but can rest in your providence. Please help me to bring every thought and fear captive to Christ, and to trust in your plan for our child. Grant me the grace to be obedient to your Word, and wise in my actions, for it is through my obedience that you desire to bless my family. But thank you, above all, that in spite of my sin and weakness you work for my good and Christlikeness, and that you promise your blessings to the thousandth generation of those whom you have called. Our baby is in trustworthy hands indeed - not mine, but yours.
