In the early weeks and months, I prayed for this pregnancy to make it. I don’t really believe in praying to God for what I want, because it seems too self-serving. If my prayers are answered, does that make me worthy? If my prayers are not answered, does that make me unworthy? I cannot reconcile it. My deity prayers only extend to asking for strength, clarity, or maybe world peace. Instead, I think I was praying to the baby. I would whisper “Please baby. Please live for me. I can’t handle losing you too. I feel like my other babies are living through you.” I would wake up during the night in a panic. Heart pounding. Unable to fathom either outcome. And whisper my prayer again.
Eventually I reached a point where viability was real. My prayer shifted to “Please baby. Please be healthy.” The amnio results were all normal. The anatomy ultrasound was normal. The fetal echocardiogram was normal. But with the unknowns around the losses, I fear some underlying medical condition. I continue to say that prayer frequently, and Ger joins me in the firm plea to the universe “Please let this baby be healthy.”
In the recent weeks, I have added a second prayer to my ongoing request for a healthy baby: “please let this baby be early.” Even one day earlier than the scheduled c-section date would be a relief: one less day of this ongoing stress that I am living through. Not so early as to be scary, but anything to lessen the torment of waiting. I told Ger about how much I have been wishing for an earlier delivery and he said “No. Just a healthy baby.” I admit that it is completely selfish; only for me. I worry about myself at this point, even though I have been trying to do everything I can to keep calm, but it is impossible.
So of my two prayers, one I say out loud and the other I say only to myself. Please baby. Please be healthy. Seven weeks to go.