I don’t even know how to begin this post. I honestly didn’t anticipate writing this one for a long time, possibly ever, but here I am trying to think of a cutesy way to announce something I’ve wanting to scream from the rooftops since the wee early morning hours of April 10th.
So I’ll just say it: I’m pregnant.
Why is that sentence not littered with exclamation marks? I think I’m still in shock. You’d think a month would be enough time to process that I’m actually pregnant, but it really is just starting to sink in now that I had my first ultrasound.
After my appointment with Dr. Tarantino on April 8th, I would classify myself as a hot mess.
Later that same day Dr. Tarantino discussed IVF with me, I had to go to my brother and sister-in-laws gender reveal party. While extremely happy for them, a large part of me was a bitter wreck, and that part of me tore through four glasses of Merlot. My sister Heather looked at me and said “I really don’t think you should be drinking.” I, being the crazy pregnancy tester that I was, had taken one of the digital early pregnancy tests before leaving for the party and still had the image of ‘Not Pregnant’ burned into my brain. So I didn’t really care what she thought, because I knew better.
(Sheepishly looking at the ground right now)
Tuesday night, as I backed my car out to head to my first infertility support group meeting, a very pregnant woman walked behind my car and was all I could see in my rear-view mirror. At this point I was pretty convinced the universe was out to get me. Luckily, I had a chance to decompress with others at the infertility support group, where I could laugh at the absurdities of the entire infertility situation. By the time I left there that night, I was actually feeling pretty good. I guess subconsciously though I realized something was up because on the way home I stopped and bought another box of pregnancy tests.
I woke up sometime Wednesday morning around one and just felt like something was off. I needed to take a pregnancy test.
And there it was: A plus sign.
It was faint. So faint I was pretty sure I had messed the test up somehow, or that it was defective, and so I ended up examining the second test in the box and using that next. Again, a really faint plus sign. I stumbled out of the bedroom to show John because I knew for sure I was seeing shit and there was no plus and I was actually in the midst of a psychotic break. Only he saw it too.
Just to err on the side of caution, I jumped in the car at two in the morning and drove to Walmart to buy one of the fancy ‘Pregnant’ ‘Not Pregnant’ digital displays, you know, the one a little over a day earlier said ‘Not Pregnant’. As you can guess, ‘Pregnant’ appeared.
In the weeks that followed, despite all the blood work and doubling numbers, I still was afraid to get excited about being pregnant. All that nursing school knowledge I’ve obtained told me everything that could go wrong: ectopic pregnancy, molar pregnancy, missed miscarriage. I was sure that when I went in for my ultrasound on May 8th, they would tell me nothing had grown, or that it had stopped growing at week six, and that I’d have to try all over again.
Only the little guy/girl is right on track. I could see little arm and leg buds, and a great heart rate of 163. Everything is perfect for eight weeks.
I’m still trying to get out of the infertility mindset. I defined myself as struggling with infertility for so long that it’s hard for me to let go, and accept the happy. I’m working on it, and seeing the picture of that little raspberry-sized baby has started to make my heart melt.
Happy Mother’s Day to you, and Happy Mother’s Day to me!