Hey guys. *embarrassed shrug*
So, it’s been awhile. Thomas reminds me everyday how long it’s been since I’ve written (happy now, Babes?) So…hi. But, hear me out — something is brewing in the Skrodzki Life, and it isn’t just coffee this time…
I’M PREGNANT! Not gonna lie, I erased that and re-wrote it seven times because I still can’t believe I get to say that. If you follow me on any of my social media, then well, this isn’t news because I blasted it from the rooftops (or the post button) as soon as Thomas said I could. How cool is that? I’m going to be a mom. I’m going to be a mom. I sometimes wonder if I’m just making it all up. You know, like in the movies when someone wants something so badly that they begin to believe it’s their reality. Truthfully, I can’t think of a single movie where that happened, but I hope you get what I mean. Then, a wave of nausea hits, or a rush to the nearest toilet to puke my brains out…yeah, then I remember that it’s real. And then I whisper a “thank you, Jesus” in-between pukes. Is “pukes” even accurate? And am I getting too detailed? Geez, I’m so sorry.
I’ll confess that the reason I put this off so long was…well, with my post on how I was struggling to conceive, I really connected with a few people that were enduring the same struggle. I know the pain of seeing yet another pregnancy announcement while you’re staring down at your negative test. I know some of you (most of you) have been fighting this battle longer then I could even dream. To you I say — please forgive me if this causes pain. That’s all I can ask. Please, just know that you’re.not.alone. I want to expand on this in a future blogpost, so please stick around, Friend.
I want to write down how I found out about this little human inside me for my own documentation, although I’m kind of embarrassed for others to read it. Promise not to judge? I mean, we can all be brats sometimes. Remember that.
April 6th — the day my life changed for…well, forever.
“AHHHHH, I think I’m pregnant!”
I got that text from a friend, and I had to pace my living room and coach myself in the art of being happy for others while you’re…dying. For lack of a better term.
Really, God? You’ve heard me weep and weep for the past seven months, and they get their baby the first month trying? R E A L L Y? Deep breaths. Please don’t get me wrong, I genuinely was happy for this friend! So so happy. How could I not be? Prior to rational thinking, I was absorbed in me and my dreams + pain, and I refused to be that way. I texted her back — squeals, all caps, 700 emojis — the works. And I was so happy for her.
Then, I cried. Like, am-I-disturbing-people-in-China-because-I’m-crying-so-hard kinda cried. I crawled into my bed at two in the afternoon, and I cried and poured my heart out to God. I begged Him to guard my heart from growing bitter. I begged Him to give me enough faith to trust Him, because I was struggling and couldn’t do it myself. I mean, considering I had to hide in the bathroom and cry the Sunday before when we sang “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus” because I couldn’t was a pretty good indicator of that. I didn’t want to feel that way. I wanted to be the person that trusted God fully in any and every circumstance. Here’s a secret, though – those people don’t get there themselves. And I was just SO HAPPY for her, so why am I crying my face off?
I flipped my pillow over because it was all wet with my tears and smeared mascara, and then I had the most genius thought: I had one good pregnancy test left up in my bathroom cabinet. (Back story: I’ve gone through boxes and boxes, like a ridiculous amount over the previous months, and I had a few cheap ones from Amazon up there. I guess I just like peeing on things…?), but I had one last good one left. As I got out of that bed to take that last test, the brattiest side of Jordan that hasn’t been seen since I was three emerged. I was so bratty, y’all. Let me explain what my plan was: for some reason, it made sense to me to take a test, see that it was negative (because of course it would be, like the seemingly millions I’ve taken before this one), cry and yell “Really God?” and then throw it at the wall. Then keep throwing it until it breaks. Yes, yes, that would make me feel better. So I did. I took the test. But I had one problem.
There was a line.
(Can I blame my psychotic, bipolar emotions on the fact that I was pregnant? Because that would be great.)
So, yes, that’s how I found out about my baby. In the midst of a brat fit, right after I spent an hour praying and telling God how I didn’t want to be a brat. Ugh. Jordan. I wanted to write that down because I want to always remember it myself.
Plz don’t quit reading my blog now that you know that I can be bratty.
I’m so thankful I have a place to write whatever I want and document my journey. To all you people that take the time to read my ridiculous musings — I love you. Thank you. I can’t wait to write about all that leads up to Baby Skrodzki’s arrival in December, and beyond.