Slow

Slow is the steady speed of grief.

No one told me how long it would take to allow myself to feel joyful during my pregnancy after a miscarriage.
No one talks about the amount of anxiety that comes along with a new pregnancy.
The constant sending up of prayers that there wouldn’t be blood every time I go to the restroom.
The wondering why I’m not feeling any movement followed by a flood of discouraging “what if’s…”
That never ending nagging feeling that the other shoe is about to drop at any minute.
The learning to hold my cautious optimism loosely in my hands.
All of the nightmares followed by sleepless nights.

Slow is the steady speed of joy that comes after pain.

The exhale of gratitude after every kick.
The constant whispers to my belly to “please just stick around a little bit longer..”
Overwhelming feelings of relief after hearing the heartbeat, every single time.
The silent tears that slide down my cheek when my husbands hand on my belly elicits movement from our baby.

Slow is the steady speed of learning to trust again; both my God and my body.