I was thinking the other day about how my feelings about pregnancy – or, more specifically, getting pregnant – have evolved over time.
Of course those feelings started out as they do in most women – Oh, please God, NO! Not Now! Anything but this! Not now!! …PHEW!
Then, things changed after I got married and we decided to start “trying”. The first few times I POAS*, it was actually kind of weird – like I was being bad or something! I spent so long trying to prevent two lines, and now I was hoping, excited, and almost craving them to appear.
When I got my first positive, I was over the moon excited! We were starting our family! Wow! How amazing is my body to be able to do this!? I wonder if it’ll be a boy or girl? What names will will we choose? How will we decorate the nursery?
Then, it happened. I had a miscarriage. Dreams crash and shatter.
We picked up the pieces and started “trying” again. This time, waiting to see those lines appear isn’t exciting. Instead it’s nerve wracking. What will happen this time? Will it happen again? That ignorant bliss of getting pregnant the first time after deciding to try is washed away forever.
Then a few years later we decide to “try” for #2. This time waiting for the lines isn’t exciting either. It’s more filled with thoughts like “are we sure?” or “what are we doing?” or “is this a mistake?” or , but also — “woah..family of four!?” and “we’ll be complete!”.
Then, it happened again. I had another miscarriage. Sadness takes over and and hopes dashed.
So, back to “trying” again and waiting for those lines is nerve wracking again, but for so many more reasons. Will I have another miscarriage? Are we doing the right thing by adding another child to our family? Can we handle it?
We were never planning on having a 3rd anyway, but now that choice has been taken away because I would be at risk of having another stroke. Even without Evan and Carter depending on having a mother, that’s not a chance I’d be willing to take.
So, now at 35, my feelings about getting pregnant are back at square-one again: scared shitless. But for much different and “weightier” reasons. Not because it would put a hamper on my life, or put things on hold for a bit, but because it would literally mean a choice between life and death — either mine or the baby’s. That’s not a decision I want to make.
*Peed on a stick – sounds so much nicer as an acronym, don’t you think?