I’ve spent some time reflecting over things that have occurred in the past few days. Being an expectant parent is a scary thing. A zillion things could go wrong with your baby. You’re playing Russian Roulette with a loaded gun. Are you going to get a healthy baby or an unhealthy one? Even if you follow everything by the book, there’s still no guarantee that things will turn out in your favor. Do you even want to take that risk?
Every mom that delivers a baby who makes it through all three trimesters and comes out healthy should be awarded a large sum of money because giving birth to a healthy baby is akin to winning the lottery. It’s a hell of an accomplishment.
Maybe it’s just me, but now, I think there’s danger lurking at every corner. I suppose Googling and reading about scary defects and conditions that can affect a baby doesn’t help. (Don’t even get me started on miscarriages.) But I can’t help it. I feel like I have to be informed about everything that could possibly affect our baby.
I now dread visits to the baby doctor. How will our next check-up turn out? How about the one after that? And the one after that? It’s enough to never let you have a good night’s rest for the rest of your life. The effects are already showing through in the form of stress-related pimples. I’ve got a nice shiner right on the middle of my nose. Unfortunately, Christmas is already over, so I can’t pretend I’m Rudolph.
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