What am I so afraid of?

I was trying to explain to some dear friends last night why I have put off blogging about my pregnancy for so long.  For heavens sakes, I am eight months!  It's about time, right?  The thing is, I'm a really private person.  It's hard for me to publish my most intimate details on the interweb.  Another thing is that I don't want people to be interested in me for only that reason.  It happened when I got engaged; all people could talk about was my wedding.  And it's 10 times worse now that we have a baby on the way.  It's sweet, I suppose, that everyone is so concerned about my well-being, but sometimes I just want to talk about something else!  I hope I'm not sounding bitter, because I certainly don't feel that way.  Pregnancy is the most amazing, miraculous, beautiful thing.  Really.  As I am sitting here, my little baby is rolling around in my belly, reminding me that there is a little person in there who can't wait to come out (just under 2 months left).  It's so incredible.  But I guess I should start from the beginning.

(Note: if you don't want all the gritty details, please skip to the last paragraph for the good stuff)

Last September, while Matt and I were minding our own business, a baby decided to take up a home in my uterus.  How dare he (or she)!  Didn't he know that we weren't ready?  It wasn't in our plan for at least a couple more years.  I remember being so incredulous after taking a home pregnancy test, that I made Matt shuttle me to the urgent care clinic by our house, just so they could reassure me that it was a false positive.  But no, that was not to be.  When the doctor came back to congratulate me, I broke down into hysterics.  Poor guy!  He was so confused, and he and Matt kept looking at each other like "huh?"  I guess he'd never had a reaction quite like that before.  He even asked if we were married, and told me about my "options" (you know, adoption, abortion, etc.).  I couldn't explain why I was so upset, I just wanted to go home.  He made us go to the hospital for an ultrasound first, but it was too early to see anything.  After we left the hospital, I just laid down and cried for the rest of the day.  I feel bad now, because I think Matt wanted to be excited but was afraid of me! We broke the bad news to our families pretty soon, and I started making the necessary arrangements.  I scheduled doctor's appointments, talked to my insurance agency, etc.  It felt more like a funeral than a pregnancy. A few weeks after finding out, I started having some pain.  We went to the hospital for another ultrasound, and this time they found a heartbeat.  They showed us our little bean of a baby and even printed off a screenshot for us to keep as a souvenir.  While I was laying there on the table, cold slime sliding over my abdomen, something clicked.  I looked over at Matt and we both had tears in our eyes.  That was our baby!  From that point on, I was happy as a clam.  I started making a list of baby names, dreaming up nursery color schemes, shopping for baby clothes.  I even made the big announcement at work, sending a copy of that first ultrasound picture to everyone in the office.  You can imagine my terror, then, when I noticed spotting accompanied by severe back pain.  Matt rushed me to my doctor's office, who did an ultrasound and informed us that, with my symptoms, chances of carrying the baby to term were about 50/50.  We left the office, stunned, and on the way home I felt the worst pain imaginable.  It was almost out of body, I could hear myself moaning but didn't feel like I was really there.  I tried to sleep but couldn't, I took some Tylenol, and we called our home teacher to help give me a priesthood blessing.  A short time after he left I feel asleep.  When I woke up, I went to the bathroom and that was it.  I miscarried.  Immediately the pain was gone.  It was such a relief at that point that I didn't feel any sadness.  Until the next day, when I went to the doctor and he confirmed it.  I was devastated.  I felt numb for weeks.  

Fast forward to May of this year.  When my friend suggested that maybe the pain in my side wasn't just a cramp, but pregnancy, I was terrified.  I came home and took a test, and sure enough, it was positive.  Shaking and crying, I called Matt into the room and showed him the stick.  I thought for sure it was going to be another miscarriage, or worse, a life-threatening ectopic pregnancy.  I was afraid to be happy about it, knowing that I wasn't ready to suffer like that again.  My sweet husband just held me while I cried and he promised that everything was going to be okay.  We went to the doctor the next day and the ultrasound showed that I was about 6 weeks pregnant.  I held my breath for the next month and a half, knowing that if I could just make it to the second trimester, everything would be okay.  This time, I knew I was ready.  The timing felt right, Matt and I were happy, we were more financially stable, and it just made sense.  We told our immediate families right away, but kept mum with everyone else until about the end of June, when a few close friends realized what was going on.  Once I reached 12 weeks, we decided it would be okay to share the happy news with our loved ones.  What a joy it was to tell everyone, knowing that we were out of the "danger zone".  I was still too paranoid to make many plans, always fearing that something would go wrong.  But time passed, visits with the doctor came and went, and everything was normal.  We went to the 20 week ultrasound in the middle of August, nervous and excited to find out the sex of our baby and find out if it was developing properly.  I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face the whole time I was laying there, and when the doctor pronounced that everything seemed to be in working order and that we were having a boy, I felt a rush of relief, joy, love.  I was going to be a mother.  For real, this time!  There haven't been many new developments since then.  He's just swimming around, growing bigger and stronger every day, and we're preparing ourselves to bring home a baby in 58 days.  Sometimes when I think about him, I feel a tiny fraction of the maternal love that I imagine I will feel when he finally arrives.  I talk to my belly and tell him that I can't wait to see him, but to kindly stay in there until he's well done.  

I apologize if you started reading this entry 20,000 years ago and are bored to tears, but I warned you, didn't I?