Sunday, March 1. Day 1
Today I found out I was pregnant.
I was late, I knew that much. But when you’re “trying” lingering in limbo for days beats a negative test. So I waited until I couldn’t sleep anymore. I crept out of bed as the sun began to rise and peed on the stick. It took 25 seconds for two lines to show up and another two minutes for me to read over the instructions for the tenth time to check yet again that those two lines were a positive indicator. So it’s pretty solid. I’m probably pregnant.
Okay, now what?
Monday, March 2. Day 2.
Still probably pregnant. Tomorrow I visit the doctor for a full confirmation but until then I’m stuck in this place where excitement, fear and skepticism meet and it’s quite uncomfortable.
Corbin and I keep catching each other’s eyes to share a quiet grin. I don’t know what he’s thinking but my mind is running wild. I think; “we did it!” We achieved this goal we set out to conquer. We made life. That’s just fucking wild. But its also really normal, right?
Tuesday, March 3, Day 3.
Yep, pregnant. And officially terrified of miscarriage. I made the mistake of reading a few pregnancy forums on sites like The Bump and Baby Center who cite a 15-30% chance of miscarriage. Scary. Then my doctor said it’s closer to 15-40%. Holy Shit! Hypochondria here I come. This is going to be a long eight months.
Thursday, March 5, Day 5.
Today felt more exciting than scary. I felt more happy than nervous. I shared the news with a good friend and had time to process with Corbin in a way that felt grounded and real.
First trimester symptoms are great at alleviating my insomnia. For the first time in years I am getting a solid 8-9 hours of sleep each night. Though this is counterbalanced by the feelings of lameness when I crawl into bed at 8:00pm and a groggy hangover sensation the following morning. I’m still in shock. An excited and happy shock but shock nonetheless.
Saturday, March 7, Day 7.
One week of knowing; six weeks pregnant. Purposefully avoided my first social event tonight. The fear of miscarriage has forced me into reclusion. I once thought I’d tell close friends immediately; propelled by an unmaintainable excitement, they’d all know within days of that first positive test. I assume I’ll still share well before the second trimester but if something were to happen during these delicate weeks I’d prefer to have a choice in who knows.
Saturday, March 21.
Eight weeks along! Immediate family knows and I’ve cautiously told a handful of close friends. While I wonder if it was too early to share, letting other people in allowed me to celebrate something that is definitely worth celebrating. Wrapping your head around the massive change happening inside your body, knowing your body is weeks away from changing forever and the even bigger realization that my life, my friendships, my marriage… all of it will change forever is both scary and exhilarating. I know I’m not alone in thinking this; regardless, the thoughts feel isolating. As if I wasn’t in my head enough before.
Friday, April 17. 12 weeks.
I did it. I made it through my first trimester. No vomiting, no nausea, only a few headaches, some extreme laziness and a whole lot of deep, contemplative thoughts on the meaning of life. I have no answers, only more questions.
We had a look at our little alien-fetus baby and as all expecting mothers claim, it made it so much more real; though on the outside I could only giggle uncontrollably. I felt ready to share the news with anyone. While the physical changes are just starting to begin (hello, C-cup) my mind finally feels settled with what’s next—next month, in 6 months, next year. I realize that I’m going to be a mom, my husband a dad. Surreal doesn’t begin to capture it but I’m really looking forward to this next-ness.
Under the category of non-monumental, small-picture moments, I miss wine. First trimester I couldn’t stand the smell but that has since passed. Damn.
The other day Corbin asked me why we count progress in pregnancy by the week and I recall often wondering the same thing. I can finally understand; it's because every week is so completely different. Day by day, change to both mom and baby is drastic. One day the baby’s lungs are developed and the next day I grow an insatiable sweet tooth. One day the baby starts kicking and the next I go from happy to sad in the blink of an eye.
“Poppy seed to pumpkin: How big is your baby?” Goodness. Well, at 17 weeks my little one is supposedly the size of a turnip. Heirloom Tomato in just a few weeks. But I gottta know, is it organic or one of the juiced-up pesticide-laden veggies that are big and plump? I get why some women want daily and weekly notifications that give them a “real-world” guide to the size of their baby along with a list of symptoms to expect but its so not for me. I'm good with actual numbers for terms of measurement.
Honing in on names, imagining our baby’s real-life existence, feeling more bonded than ever. The magic of modern medicine revealed our baby’s sex today. We also saw the functioning heart, kidneys, two legs, two arms and even a glimpse at its little face. Wow.
I read Dept of Speculation for my book club this week (highly recommended). It was amazing how each woman in my group related very differently to certain chapters. I was hooked around page 30 after convincing myself I was going to hate this book. The protagonist is talking about the horrors of sleep deprivation with a baby. How days alone with her infant felt long but not expansive. How the days caring for her infant required repetitious tasks that seemed both urgent yet tedious, tasks that cut the entire day into little bits and pieces. But then she would smell her daughter’s hair. Notice the way she clasped her hand around her fingers. These moments were like medicine. She didn’t have to think.
I’m feeling more and more movement. It’s amazing to begin to understand the baby’s triggers, what gets the little one going, the most active times of day, predicting the placement in my belly based on kicks—I had always been weirded out by this until it happened. Now it’s just a normal part of my day.
Before adopting my first dog I had always wondered how I’d know what was best for her. When she’d need to go outside, what toys she’d like. Then she came home and I quickly realized that I just know. It’s pretty inspiring to understand that this early in parenthood. I already can expect things of this baby. Sure, it’s pretty small right now and doesn’t require a whole lot of work on my end, but I already know. Makes things feel slightly less scary. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still scared, but in each fear there is always something redeeming.
I have been hovering over this post for over a month now. I’m not sure why because I’m very ready, whether by choice or not, to be open and talk about my experience. The ups and downs of my feelings about this new reality have put me on a whole new spectrum of vulnerability. From emotions about the baby to shifting dynamics with friends; one day I’m ready to share but the next I want to keep it close a little longer.
I went to a wedding this past weekend and revealed my belly for the first time in a tight fitting dress. It was pretty clear, or I hope it was, that I'm pregnant. It was small, but still was a little bit of a coming out; it meant something. As the 20-something who proclaimed to never want kids, I still am working through this 30-year-old wanting kids thing and being open is just another step in the process.
Cheers. Thanks for reading.
I’d love to hear about your experiences!