Disclaimer: Not Pregnant
For the last 7-8 days or so, I’ve been 100% convinced that I’m pregnant.
Like rushing to Amazon to buy pre-natal vitamins convinced.
Like heading to Target to look at newborn sleepers and maternity jeans convinced.
Like counting out the estimated due date and figuring out how maternity leave would fit into my school year convinced.
I had no doubt in my mind that I was pregnant.
So it was pretty disappointing this morning, when I went to take the test that I was sure would finally show up positive, to instead see the hard truth that I was completely wrong.
A little background information about my first pregnancy.
When Chris and I decided to finally pull the trigger on starting our family, we planned for March 2015 being the first month. In the beginning of February my disability insurance kicked in so we were officially okay to get pregnant. We stopped preventing, but didn’t plan to start trying until March. Then March came around and surprise: I was pregnant.
I always knew we were very blessed that it all came about so quickly and easily for us the first time. I mean, I was tracking my cycle at that point and taking ovulation tests and all that, so I’ve always known that Lincoln’s conception was pretty much a miracle. Let’s just say that the timing of ovulation and “other things” were not at all what you’d want when trying to get pregnant. In fact, they were almost four full days apart.
But despite all that, we found ourselves pregnant, and without having to put in any effort. It was awesome. I love to think that Lincoln was just supposed to be our baby, conceived at that time, the science of it be damned.
I also secretly hoped that maybe, just maybe, we were just a super fertile couple and getting pregnant would always come easily.
A little background about starting our second pregnancy.
As we’ve considered when to begin our second pregnancy, I’ve always seen it in my head not as the date we would start trying, but as this specific date we would choose to actually have a baby. And then we would just work backwards from there. If we were shooting for a December baby, that meant we had to start trying in March.
Side note: December actually wasn’t my first choice for having a baby (right in the middle of the school year sounds kind of daunting), but the idea of it has been growing on me for the last few months. If I’d had my choice about our second pregnancy, we would have gotten pregnant this past June, so we’d have a March/April baby, perfectly planned to ride out the end of the school year at home and extend maternity leave right into summer.
But Chris wasn’t ready last year; he wanted to do that exact plan, just a year later. We compromised by holding off until January, then mutually agreed March would be a better starting date. (Because a September/October baby is just ridiculous when you’re a teacher–you miss the beginning of the year when you’re training your kids and then have to come back before the second quarter is even over!)
So the plan was to try for a December baby. And the more I thought about it, the more it grew on me. Lincoln was a November baby, and I loved having my maternity leave over the winter months. I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything better than cozying up with a snuggly newborn on cold nights, space heaters at your feet, blankets everywhere. Christmas break would be right around that time, so I’d have a little extra time off to rest beforehand. I was really getting excited about the timing.
Late March came, and we did everything we needed to do to ensure a pregnancy. And remember, I was secretly sure we would easily get pregnant again. We got pregnant with 0% effort last time, so obviously we would conceive with 100% effort.
About a week later I was convinced I was pregnant. I felt it in my body. I felt it in random bouts of nausea I had. I felt it when I was suddenly ravenous at random times. (That one was exactly the same as with Lincoln.) There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that we had succeeded. At this point I was just waiting for the positive to finally show up on the (many) tests I took.
I was shocked this morning when it became apparent I was not in fact pregnant. I kind of just sat there, unused pregnancy test in hand, trying to get it all to make sense. I found my boys in Lincoln’s room, sitting at Lincoln’s window watching the trash truck come through our street. I sat in the rocking chair beside them, feeling absolutely crazy.
Did I seriously imagine all those symptoms? Did I want to be pregnant so badly that my body actually matched what I hoped to be true? I had never felt so disoriented. Going from being so sure of a pregnancy to suddenly being presented with a hard no was jarring.
And then: We have to wait a whole month to try this again?!
Along with: And now I know we’re not just some special super fertile couple that just magically makes babies without much effort. What if it doesn’t happen next month either? Or the next?
And then I started feeling kind of stupid. Especially when I think of all the women out there who have tried for months, for years, to conceive. Friends of mine. Some who, like me, already have a child and are trying for a second, and some who have not even been blessed once yet. Friends who finally, finally succeeded and are about to have their first miracle baby any day.
So I stopped feeling sorry for myself. (Well, I tried.) And I snuggled up my little miracle boy and took him to the grocery store, where we found the special red fire truck cart and ate samples from the deli, and he talked my ear off about trash trucks and the strawberries he wanted to get and yelled “Hi! This is Mama!” at everyone who passed.
So we’re not pregnant yet. That’s okay. It’s a journey, one that plenty of people have walked before me, and I’m just going to have to have faith that when the perfect little person is supposed to join our family that it will happen, whether or not we’re doing everything right.
After all, it already happened once before. And that time turned out pretty great.