I hear that question so often.
“How are you feeling?”
It’s met time after time with a nonchalant I’m okay and a fake smile dancing across my face.
I don’t tell them the truth.
I don’t tell them that I am miserable.
I am uncomfortable, swollen, and in pain.
I don’t tell them that the faintest smells make my stomach turn.
That the foods I used to love now make me completely ill.
I don’t tell them that it hurts to move.
Or breathe.
Or that the sciatica is a constant drum, beating against my insides, sending pulsating jolts of pain through my back, hips, and legs.
I have no energy and the slightest movement leaves me falling short of breath.
I don’t explain that I can barely lift my kids.
Or that I can barely walk down a flight of stairs without having to take a break.
Or that I’m supposed to be on modified bed rest, but can’t because of my little ones.
I don’t tell them that I can’t sit, or stand, or walk, or sleep.
That every movement or position is more painful and uncomfortable than the last one.
Instead I keep that inside. Locked up tight, not to be expressed.
I know that what I’m going through is normal. Expected.
I am so incredibly grateful for the fact that I am able to go through this again.
I am thankful for this gift and so fortunate to travel through this journey.
So instead of unloading the complaints, I paint that smile on my face.
I force myself through songs and dances, games and demands.
I keep up the energy as best I possibly can.
I stay quiet about the aches and pains, sufferings and woes.
I focus on the end result.
And remind myself that this is all so very worth it.
I see myself holding my Peanut in a few short weeks.
And thank God that I can go through this again.