Eight years ago today I was on bedrest at Northside Hospital in Atlanta. I had been there 3 1/2 weeks and was 27 weeks pregnant. There was not a lot to do. (WiFi, ipads, iphones, facebook, twitter or netflix were not yet a part of my vocabulary.) I couldn't read books because the medicine I was on continuously to keep my labor from progressing made my hands shaky and my attention span short. I spent my days watching reruns of ER and trying not to worry.
There was plenty to worry about. How long could we keep the babies gestating? How quickly would my husband be able to break away from work and make the 80 mile drive when it was time to deliver? How big (or small) would they be? Would there be complications?
Our R had shown indications that he might have Down Syndrome as he was measured via ultrasound. We declined invasive testing, so we wouldn't know until he was born.
I think I always realized that worrying about the medical/physical concerns was pointless...that was out of my hands. I spent more time anxiously considering the overwhelming task ahead of me: being a clueless first-time Mama times three. I wanted to do well, but I couldn't really fathom what the road ahead would hold.
I don't recall all of my anxieties, but I vividly remember the two most prevalent: that I wouldn't have enough individual time with each of my children and that they would always be lumped together, unable to establish their own identities. Despite the hours I spent perseverating on these two concerns, God has been gracious to work out both of those issues.
I wish I could tell that bloated, hospitalized, nervous 8 years ago me to exhale, pray hard and hang on. But since I can't, I will remind modern day me to apply the same principles to today's list of concerns.
What a ride!