At the TEDDY study, the lady handed me a sheet of paper, “These are the things that may have happened to you during your pregnancy. Just tell me the numbers if any happened.” I began reading down the list:
Serious illness in the family…check
Family member hospitalized…check
Injury caused to yourself…check
Moved…check
Got married…check
Serious arguments with family members…check
Family member died…check
Lost or quit a job…check
Financial issues for yourself…check
Financial issues for your spouse…check

Her three lines for the stressors were filled, and the remainder of the numbers continued down the side of the page.

“Okay, so…what trimester did all these things happen?” The majority of it was in the first and second.

“You had a really busy pregnancy. Geeze. Like, really busy…” She was obviously in awe, as was I. I hadn’t realized, until that moment, that I had a really, like really, busy pregnancy. Things that really should’ve knocked me for a loop and pushed me into laying in a fetal position in the corner of my closet, crying for mercy.

But it didn’t and that makes me incredibly proud.

“Well, at least it’s not too bad now!”
“Yeah, it’s great…well, then he got colic and food allergies and then we got the diabetes call, so…”
She laughed, and I laughed with her but was wondering if I should have been. The past year and change has been a never-ending cacaphony of bad news, but it’s never really hit me as such. It’s always been case-by-case. Tomorrow’s a new day. I’ve never let it pile on top of itself. As well as it’s worked for me thus far, I wonder how sustainable it can be. I mean, shouldn’t all those things have had me holed up in a closet somewhere? Shouldn’t I be taking mass amounts of blood pressure medication and martinis? Why am I not freaking out here?

While I hope I never actually have that moment where I realize nothing has stopped since becoming pregnant, I do, on occasion, want to have a few “lost my mind” moments. Moments where I run around the house in a leotard, tutu and stripey toe socks while singing, “I’m tired of dancin’ here all by my-se-helf!” without being questioned. And, you know, I think I’ve finally found the perfect excuse. “But…I’m stressssssssssssssed!”