2004-06-09 - 7:11 a.m.

Week 7 began yesterday and I'm beginning to reach the heights of paranoia in my mind. I've had more difficulty than I care to admit with the whole quitting smoking thing. Yesterday I had 3 cigarettes and this morning I had one as well. Now, I'm sitting at my desk, paranoid as hell that I've killed the unborn child within. I mutter prayers outloud, begging for the safety of the life that I carry. So, why don't I stop smoking? Good fucking question. Today I have made a vow never to smoke again. And I intend on following this vow through. Even if the cigarettes don't do damage, my paranoia and stress levels certainly well. The only good thing about cigarettes though is that they sometimes act as a laxative. This morning, being my husband's birthday, I treated myself to a small cup of caffeinated coffee and one cigarette and was rewarded with a healthy bowel movement, something I haven't seen much lately due to my extreme constipation.

Gods - I pray that my child will be okay. I pray for the strength to be a perfect pregnant mother from this point forth. I am so freaking out that I obsessively check my body constantly to make sure the symptoms and signs of pregnancy are still present. This had led to many "I touch myself" moments; I am constantly groping and squeezing my breasts, making sure that they're still sore. Honestly, they're still somewhat sore though not to the degree they were a week or so ago. Although I welcomed my bowel movement, I was also paranoid that this effecient cleaning meant that I was no longer constipated; a possible sign that I'm no longer pregnant? Please, please, please say that's not the case.

I worry that I'm going to be a horrible mother. Look at how fucking difficult it is for me to get my own damn life under control.

This morning I chanted the gayatri mantra the whole way to work - a mantra that is said to heal the body. The whole time I envisioned love being sent to my womb and a brilliant white light surrounding and protecting it. I want nothing more than to be crippled by the feeling of my uterus stretching today, preparing itself for child birth. I want to feel pain so that I may know that life still exists within my damaged body.

I know that weeks 7 - 10 in the first trimester tend to be the most fragile and I guess that's why I'm so paranoid. I'm beginning to think that it might be a good idea to avoid all pregnancy boards and blogs for the next few weeks because reading about all of the women who miscarry during this time is making me paranoid. Indeed, I need to erase the term "miscarry" from my vocabulary. Right now it's the word that dare not speak its name in my mind.

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