So it happened. It was bound to happen. A belly aching pregnant infertile can only publicly fret so much. A reader gently, but forcefully, called me out last night. She has personally experienced pregnancy after loss and understands my fears. That said, at 17 weeks days it is time I enjoy this.
In two and a half weeks I’ll be halfway through this pregnancy and, if I am quite honest, I’ve enjoyed about 5% of it. I have made a few purchases but they have all been serious bargains that I am certain I can resell and recoup all my money, if not make a little profit. I have created a list of the items we will need to help me stay focused in my bargain hunting. This knowledge, I reason, will also be helpful when it comes time to buy things for all the other pregnant people in my life. I started the quilt this weekend and the entire time I was scheming up other uses for it – cat quilt or picnic quilt perhaps?
Did I enjoy the time hunting down my first baby bargains? No. Did I enjoy the time spent compiling my shopping list? No. Did I have a jolly good time singing while sewing this weekend? No.
And that, y’all, is just plain sad.
The blog comment weighed heavily on me while laying in bed, surrounded by my snugly life raft pillow and listening to my cat purr. Honestly, at first I was pretty pissed by the comment, thinking that this woman had no right to question my choices. As the minutes ticked by, the angry subsided into a sort of sad acceptance. She was right.
This morning I wanted to do things differently. I’m 17 weeks pregnant. That’s almost halfway there. This is my only pregnancy. My fiercely fought for pregnancy.
I popped in my prental exercise DVD and actually did the kegels when they were called for. I thought about how the labor squats were helping my pelvis prepare for birth. I focused hard on the shoulder work thinking how important these muscles will be when I’m carrying around my baby.
Later I stood in front of the dryer mulling over outfit choices (don’t judge – I HATE putting laundry away and most of the time just get dressed in the basement laundry corner!) Up until today my outfits were carefully selected to make me look as not pregnant as possible. I struggle to hide my growing breasts and the little belly that to me just looks fat but to my husband tells a story of new life. Today would be different, I thought. I put on my yoga pants that can pass as regular pants (thank you Athleta!), a long burgundy tank top and a mustard yellow cardigan. And then I tied the cardigan up so my midsection can show all of its pregnant glory. It felt weird.
The first thing I heard when I walked into the office was from a male coworker who saw me approaching and stopped to say he loved what he was seeing. “What, my cup of tea?” I asked, completely oblivious. “No, the baby bump! It’s showing and it is amazing!”
I slunk back, embarrassed as other coworkers popped out of their offices to see. They all gushed and praised. I blushed and felt REALLY uncomfortable, wishing with all my might that I had not chosen to wear yoga pants to work. Despite my discomfort, I felt a tiny shred of pride. This is my baby. He or she is growing in my body. I made this little guy (granted with a number of petri dishes and some top-notch culture medium). My baby deserves to be celebrated. I deserve to plan and be giddy. It is ok to sing happily while I sew for baby.
And, perhaps most importantly, it is ok to blog joyously about this baby. I try so hard to be sensitive here but am realizing that I need this space as a way to process not just my grief and fears, but also my joy and hope. I hope you will all stick around while I make a whole-hearted attempt to change my tone. Will there still be bad days where I worry? Of course. But I hope that in time my good days will out number the bad and that when my baby comes I’ll be so blissfully ready that the transition will be smooth and beautiful.