I worry about the baby, any small symptoms (or lack thereof) I have, whether bleeding means I miscarried, if skipping prenatal vitamins because even the thought of taking it makes me nauseous harms the baby, whether my next meal might make me throw it all up, my husband and how exhausted he must be working & taking care of me, whether we'll be able to afford the expenses of having & raising a human being, not to mention finding a job before I start showing. . .worry, worry, worry. Worrying probably isn't good for the baby (see - worrying again!). And, probably is due to my lack of faith.
My whole life, though I've relied heavily on God, I still find it hard to "let go & let God." Letting go of control is not my strong suit. Ok, so the piles of laundry and dirty house probably say otherwise. See, my personal mantra is "if you want it done right, do it yourself" and I absolutely hate asking for help. It's not so much that I don't appreciate the help, it's more the feeling of I SHOULDN'T be asking for help & asking for help makes me uncomfortable. <Insert only child stereotype> My normal control freak self would quit worrying about everything and get everything done. This pregnancy, however, turned the control freak into a worrywart. I guess it's some sort of coping strategy. This is where my loving husband brings me down to earth & humbles me. He lets me know that I can ask for his help (& he WANTS to help), that he'll
No comments:
Post a Comment