I have spent so much time being anxious lately, and I just haven’t been able to put my finger on why. Even my OB can tell that something is up. She knew my history last pregnancy, and I don’t remember her ever asking about how my depression was doing other than our plan to head off the possibility of postpartum issues. This time she asks every appointment, making sure I am taking my meds (I am) and that things are manageable.
I think I finally figured out how to put it in words.
My life is so good, so wonderful, that I am terrified of something going wrong. I have… everything. I have a job that while annoying still makes me laugh, still pays me, provides me with good benefits. Even if I walk away from it, it will have been one of the best jobs I have ever held. My daughter is an amazon, growing bigger every day. She kind and sweet, and I have some how lucked out in that she eats her vegetables, likes dinosaurs as much as princesses, and has already started to outsmart me. I have a roof over my head, a warm dog to snuggle with me, and a partner who loves me and never gives up on me.
Of course, there are issues. Who doesn’t have issues. But I have the life I wanted, with all of its little imperfections.
There is so much unknown with adding to our family. There was the looming threat that it wouldn’t be possible, or would require more work than I was sure I could do. And now that it is becoming possible, that we are nearly half way to having it really happen… I fear it all going away.
I fear the other shoe.