Pregnancy Fears

Fear.

It’s something a lot of pregnant women encounter on a daily basis. Fear we are not doing enough – fear we are doing too much. Fear of the unknown inside of us. Fear of the unknown ahead of us.

Sometimes we push away the fears. Sometimes we’re too busy too acknowledge them.

And sometimes fear comes up and smacks us like a hard, wet, concrete sidewalk.

Forget the metaphor – sometimes the fear comes because of a hard, wet concrete sidewalk.

Last night, my husband and I had the rare opportunity to go out together. I tried to call it a “date night”, but in reality we sat in a country club dining room surrounded by rich, old(er) white people and listened to them laud their own accomplishments. But that is fodder for another post entirely. Let me suffice it to say that some of the looks my husband and I get at events like this are priceless.

I took a little extra time getting ready, hoping we might be able to actually salvage some date night experience after our work obligations had ended. What we would do remained a mystery though the overcooked prime rib and bad jokes from the emcee, but I remained hopeful. I had dressed up, after all.

When the evening concluded, we headed to the front door, anxious to be anywhere but there. We were met first with the noise – the telltale “whoosh” of a torrential downpour that made us quickly realize that our tentative plans for “walking downtown” together were no longer an option.

We walked out the front door and down the walkway that, despite having a covering, glistened with the same rain falling down beside it.

And then came another “whoosh” – the sound of my feet sliding out from under me.

I caught myself on my knee and by frantically grabbing my husband as I went down.

“Pregnant woman down!”

It seemed like the entire crowd stopped to stare – aghast. My husband helped me to the side of the walkway and found me a place to sit. I sat there, with my eyes closed, trying to make everyone disappear.

My husband gently asked me, “Are you hurt? Or are you embarrassed?”

I quickly took inventory. My knee throbbed slightly, but nothing traumatic. I hadn’t fallen on my stomach. My heart was pounding, but anyone who has ever fallen down (especially in a crowd) can probably relate to that. I smiled at him and said, “I think I’m mostly embarrassed.”

And a little scared.

Remember that fear I talked about at the beginning? There’s nothing like slipping and falling to make all those fears smack you in the face. Thankfully,  Little Miss Athlete kept bouncing around in my belly through the whole ordeal, so I knew she would be just fine. I came home and immediately Googled every pregnancy horror story about falling – and suddenly felt much better since I hadn’t fallen down an entire flight of stairs like some of these women. (Really??)

A day later, I’m a little sore through my hips – probably the result of desperately trying to keep myself from doing the splits as I fell. And my knee is swollen and bruised. But I know it could have been much worse. So I’m thankful.

And there’s nothing like a slip and fall on wet concrete to remind me all over again what a miracle it is that I get to carry this tiny being inside me. Even if that miracle might be sometimes couched in a little bit of fear.