Theoretically, I’ve made it 7 weeks.
It’s a different experience. The shock was the same at the beginning — my hand was shaking as the line turned purple. But I’m a LOT more afraid than I was last time. I think it can best be summed up by something I said to Becky the other day.
Her (paraphrased): There are no bad signs and you had no issues carrying Mini.
Me: Yeah, but one data point doesn’t make a trend.
Last time, with him, I had little steps along the way to prove that everything was okay. I had the positive pee stick, then a beta the next day, then another beta two days after that, then an ultrasound with Dr. Local to check the heartbeat in a week, then an ultrasound with the OB two weeks after that. After all of those little confirmations showing that the baby was okay, I was able to relax (some, at least).
This time I’m running on a pee stick and hope. I’m having to trust that my body knows what it is doing, and is carrying out all that needs to be done. Given all that we went through to get pregnant the first time, I still have some issues believing that that is true.
Me emotions are all over the map. The hope, just by itself, is a little frightening. I bought two pairs of maternity pants the other day since they were on sale and I’m going to need them before it gets warm (no, I’m not brave enough to take the tags off). I bought an ornament for the new baby to celebrate him/her being here this Christmas.* Manly and I are planning hard-core for what is going to happen in the fall. It’s going to be a BIG change for our family and there are things that we can’t put off.
I will admit too, that I’m a little sad. I never really allowed myself to think of having more children. I have ALWAYS treated my experiences with Mini as if they were going to be the only ones I had. In my mind, I pictured him as an only child and was emotionally prepared for that. Now I’m having to readjust my expectations. And I’m sad, not for anything that I will lose, but for that vision of him soaking up everything we have to give. I worry that he’ll be upset because he won’t have my exclusive attention, I worry that he’ll miss the experiences of being in daycare (because Manly will become a SAHD). I worry that he’ll feel he’s not loved, or wasn’t enough to make us happy. Which I know is TOTALLY MY ISSUE. I was an only child for 8 years, and I remember feeling all those things.
I’m still a little angry, as well, that I didn’t get to plan like other people when my pregnancy would happen. Being 100% honest with myself and with you guys, this would have been so much better happening in six months. I never went back on birth control after Mini was born because it took us so long to get him — and we figured that if we were LUCKY it might happen again in a few years. And now we’re here. I don’t regret this pregnancy one bit, and I fully realize it may be the only other one I get. But it would have been so much nicer to be normal and to have been able to put off getting pregnant because I knew that it would be no problem whenever I decided it was time. Now we’re going to be running against a clock on a new short-term disability policy that won’t pay me a cent if I have this baby before August, trying to squeeze all of Manly’s income to pay off his car before the baby arrives so that he can quit his job and us still have enough money to pay our bills each month, and I’m going to be stuck with my same company since I won’t be able to find a new job fast enough to qualify for FMLA. And it’s petty, but I don’t want an August baby. This child will most likely share a birthday with my father, my brother, one of any three of my sorority sisters, my dead godmother, my dead grandfather, my uncle, Manly’s uncle, or one of my cousins. Oh, and one of my friends announced that she’s pregnant and due in June, and I want to be able to celebrate this pregnancy and this child, but I don’t want to steal any of her thunder.
Anyone who reads this without a child in their arms will tell me that I’m damn lucky to be here, and I know that. I’m complaining out of a place of privilege. I have a child sleeping upstairs, and another (touch wood) growing inside me. Two Christmases ago, I NEVER would have believed that this was going to be my life. And I am so, so happy that it is. I’m just ready to have confirmation that everything is okay, and be able to breathe a little easier for a while.
Six days. I just have to make it until the morning of the 30th.
*I don’t regret that one a bit. No matter how this turns out, good or bad, there is no way that I would be able to forget this experience — and I don’t want to.