Tiny Arms

I cannot get over the sight of those tiny arms.

I have struggled, just the past week or two, with the thought of this coming baby. We're limping along here, the house and the children and myself all in various states of chaos. I (mostly) quit getting on Facebook because the rest of the world seems so darn chipper, seems to have it all together, when I am seemingly failing on so many fronts.

I say "seemingly" because I know my husband would argue that everyone is fed, everyone is dressed, and I am making baby parts. Everything else is inconsequential in comparison. He is good to me when I am not good to myself.

But even so, it has crossed my mind more than once, in moments of defeat: I do not want this baby. Not so much that I don't want the baby, of course; but I cannot add another thing -- another person, I mean -- to take care of. I can't.  I don't have it in me. I can't even keep up with what I have already. And every flitting thought comes with an hour of self-recrimination: what if you actually lost this baby, after thinking such a thing? How could you ever survive the guilt?

Which brings me to this afternoon, lying cold on the OB's chair, who has been trying for what seems like an eternity to find a heartbeat other than my own. I am smiling bravely, because it took my midwife an equally long time to find it last week, but I am starting to panic. Just a little. Just enough to feel guilty already.

But there are benefits to patronizing a small practice, and the ultrasound machine is empty and waiting in literally the next room. "Let's just pop over and take a peek," the doctor grins at me.

That's the only picture, since this was impromptu, but that dark oval there is my uterus, and a baby belly, and the outline of a strong, consistent heartbeat. Turns out my placenta is on top, pumping my own blood through with vigor, blocking any access to the baby's heartbeat. But before he even turned on the sound, there was my littlest one on the screen, ducking his/her head out of view and waving the tiniest little arms at me. BabyCenter tells me that my 14-week fetus is about 3.5 inches long, only the size of a lemon, and still there are those tiny arms. Perfect little elbows. 

It came in a rush, and I cried all the way home: I want this baby. This miracle. This proof that God's ability to provide is so, so much greater than my (in)ability to take care of another person.

It also made me think that early ultrasounds should be mandatory for any girl considering an abortion, but that's a more political post than I'll ever write.

Nothing much has changed, really. I still feel threatened by the crushing weight of comparison. One ultrasound did not calm the chaos in my house or in my children. 

But it did calm a fair bit of the chaos within myself. For that -- and for tiny, precious, little arms -- I am grateful.

Edited to add: less than 24 hours after posting, I have already received a flood of encouraging replies from other young moms who "get it." It was not my intention to ask for such a response, I merely write to process what's going on in my head and my heart, but I do so appreciate your support!