Constant reminders

We have all heard the joke about the guy that goes into the doctor's office and complains that his elbow (knee, shoulder, neck, etc.) hurts when he moves it a certain way.  The doctor helpfully replies that he should stop moving it that way.  Snicker, snicker.  Har-de-har.  There is actually some sound medical reasoning behind the doctor's advice.  Sometimes that pain just means that body part needs a break.  So what do you do if the pain you are having is as much emotional as it is physical? 

A little history:  Having babies has not been easy for me.  My first three pregnancies ended in miscarriage.  Horrid, tragic, heartbreaking miscarriage.  After having test after test after test tell me that there was no know explanation for my losses, I became pregnant with my sweet, wonderful son.  My doctor took a stab in the dark to try to prevent another "spontaneous abortion" (my distaste for that term knows no bounds) and miraculously it seemed to work.  Nine months later I had my boy.  Thinking that the mystery had been solved, Randy and I decided that we would go ahead and have another.  My body had other plans.  After four more miscarriages, a chemical pregnancy that did not take and, finally, a change of doctors I had not given up and we were lucky enough to find out a little girl would be joining our family.  My pregnancy with her was challenging, to say the least.  Hyperemesis, ulcers, going into active labor at 30 weeks and then 7 weeks of bed rest.  However, my precious girls was born healthy and loved at 37 weeks.  Somehow, my family still did not feel complete.  I did know that I needed to get my body as healthy as possible before I could try to have another.  It took a little convincing to get Randy on board but I think he knew in his heart that we were meant to have one more little love creating chaos in our home.  Amazingly (and I think partially, in thanks to our super-human OB) I am now almost 20 weeks with another baby boy.  But.  But, but, but, but...

Despite all the work I did to get my body ready for growing another wee human, things are hard.  Really, really hard.  I have vomited more times than can be counted, I have a wonky rib and I am so exhausted that I have been spotted falling asleep at the dinner table.  To top it off, my body is starting to show signs that another preterm labor is "inevitable."  You have got to be freaking kidding me! 

So now, I have these constant reminders of my previous pain and heartache.  Unfortunately, I can't just not use the body part that is causing the pain.  They don't make a uterine immobilizer.  I can't just not go pee.  I have to drink a lot of water to keep from contracting which means I am peeing a lot and every time I pee there is the dreaded pink spot on the toilet paper.  Reminding me that my body can't just get it right.  That I just can't get it right.

So I live in fear.  Fear that my baby will not be okay.  Fear that I will not be okay.  Fear that my two other precious loves will not be okay.  Fear that Randy won't be okay.  The memories of previous loss and heartache are eating me alive and I don't know how to make it stop.  Please, someone, anyone, tell me.  How do I stop using my heart until my injury has healed?

I have a confession...

I find myself sitting here in my uncomfortable preggo state daydreaming about running.  For anyone that knows me well (including myself) this is not normal behavior for me.  I don't think I have EVER daydreamed about exercise.  Naps, yes.  Eating, yes.  Actually, I usually daydream about eating while I am running.  It really passes the miles to plan what I am going to eat as soon as I am done running.  While training for the half-marathon this summer I was lucky enough to have running partners that love to talk about food as much as I do.  Usually about 3 miles into our long weekend runs we would start talking culinary delights and it would come up again and again for the next 2 hours. 

And then I lose track of what I was talking about.  Daydreaming about running. 

I just can't quite identify the point at which I became a runner.  Was is when I decided to do that first 5k or was further down the line when I decided that I could do a half-marathon?  I choose to believe it happened somewhere in the middle, on a sunny, cold Central Oregon day while I pushed a sleeping Sara along the Dry Canyon Trail and found myself not counting the miles anymore. 

Whenever it happened, I am so thankful that I am just stubborn enough to commit to something and refuse to allow myself to fail.  Running changed my life.  That sounds cliche but I cannot think of any other way to describe it.  When I run, I feel strong and powerful.  I feel like I can accomplish things that others doubt I can do.  I still don't kow if my dad believes I was actually running when I crossed that finish line but I know I was and when I think about that moment, I cry.  I was more proud of myself than I have ever been. 

So when this baby comes in the spring I will be anxiously awaiting that moment that my doctor says, "You're free to run."  Run I will.  And I will probably daydream about eating with every step.