Worry

I know, rather, I knew that when I became pregnant, my level of worrying would reach a whole new level. I knew this because, like my mother and paternal grandmother, I have a bad case of The Worries. I've had it since I was little.

I used to worry about falling down while walking up the chalkboard at school. (Yep. We had chalkboards back in my elementary school days. I AM ANCIENT.)

I used to worry myself into physical sickness about passing middle school algebra. (To be fair, I had a teacher whose charm and warmth rivaled that of the Wicked Witch of the West.)

I used to worry about getting into college, despite having a solid ACT score and darn decent GPA.

I worried about finding my soulmate.

I worried each morning about how I'd get through the day at my job at the time. I hated it that much. (The job I had before the amazing job I have now.)

I worried about getting pregnant, even though I had no medical reason to be worried.

...............................

But guess what.

I never once fell while walking up to the front of the classroom.
I did pass algebra, albeit with the skin of my teeth.
I did get into a good college. And on scholarship.
I found Stephen.
I got a new job at a company I'd been eyeing since I'd moved to my city over five years ago.
I got pregnant quickly.

Essentially, I had flat-out wasted a whole lot of time worrying about things that, inevitably, weren't worth fretting over.
...............................

We're in the height of all the early screenings and ultrasounds and such with the baby. And I'm a first-time mom. Y'all, I just about had a mini-nervous breakdown the day we went to look for the babe's heartbeat. It took the nurse all of two minutes to find it, but those were the longest, most emotionally excrutiating of my LIFE.

And now we're waiting on the results of the first trimester screening. And I'm in hyper-drive worry mode. I worry because I'm sick on an almost daily basis right now. Not just "a little nausea" or anything, we're talking all-out UGLY sick. I worry that something must be wrong with me, despite logic telling me that some women are just, well, sick.

The "what ifs" are killing me. But, I know God has a very specific plan. He's a man of great detail, after all. And I know that whatever comes our way during this pregnancy and this baby's life, we'll handle it.  I believe my God transcends all of these earthly worries, though. He is bigger than any ultrasound or screening. He clothes me in strength and protection far more than any vitamin, supplement, pregnancy book or parenting class ever could.

I worry, but He reminds me of His steadfast love: "Did I not bring you this far?", He asks.

And I smile. Because He has.