Literature
Tears of Joy, Tears of Fear
I have never considered myself much a crier. I know that there are people that wouldn’t agree, but they tend to be very specific people. Generally, it takes quite a bit to make me cry. Now, though, I feel like tears are always just under the surface, and it isn’t because of pregnancy hormones. I have struggled with tears through the ever-present morning sickness. Not because I was sick, but because we were in the process of moving and I couldn’t do anything to help Aaron with the packing. Okay, I also cried after periods of throwing up anything, everything, and nothing in bouts of every fifteen minutes. I didn’t cry when we had the blood draw test that would let us know the risks of our child having an extra chromosome, but most importantly to me, the gender of our baby. I didn’t cry, barely, when we received the results. The test said we are going to have a little girl. A daughter. I was in my 13th week of pregnancy when I was scheduled for my last ultrasound before we moved. The