Then comes Baby...
At the end of my workday, I get a bit lazy. (At the beginning, too. And in the middle sometimes.) Anyway, I'm back!
So I believe I left off with the story of my birth control malfunction. I was working at the time in retail, odd hours, and I took the pregnancy test on a whim when my period was overdue by a few hours in December of 2013. (The pill made it like clockwork. God I miss that.) I peed on the stick and then went outside for a cigarette, absolutely positive that I wasn't pregnant.
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear, but two distinct lines, so pink and clear. (What? It's Christmastime, and it was then, too!)
I was stunned. I threw away my cigarettes and poured my hidden booze down the drain then went to the store and bought three more tests (three different brands), just to be sure. They were all glaringly positive, despite the fact that I hadn't even technically missed a period yet. I called my husband and basically blurted out the news. He was quiet for a long time, then said we would talk about it that night.
I'm going to be super fucking real here, just FYI, and I know for a fact that, as a very liberal woman, some of my lifestyle choices and life choices or inclinations may offend. But I feel it's important for people to talk candidly about making these choices, rather than keeping them as shameful or secret things.
My husband and I had a lengthy discussion about abortion that night. We debated the pros and cons of bringing a child into this world together. Were we suited to be parents, together? Did we have the same goals and views on raising a human being? Would I be able to stop falling back on my familiar crutches (alcohol, marijuana, cigarettes), and if so, how long would that last? Did we even want to stay together, anyway - were our fights because of a basic incompatibility, or a phase, or my refusal to accept help or look within myself and become a healthier person? And do you ever know if you're making the right decision?
Ugh. It was a rough night.
In the end, we landed in the same place - keeping the baby, with a huge part of that reason being that I was already in my 30s, my mother had five miscarriages and only two children brought to term, and my prior surgery meant an increased risk for miscarriages, plus the first year that we were together and I couldn't afford birth control and we were a bit lax about using condoms and I never even had a pregnancy scare. What if I had an abortion, then I couldn't get pregnant, or had multiple miscarriages as I entered my mid-30s and beyond? It all boiled down to: what if this is my only chance to have a child - am I going to be okay with missing this?
The answer was a resounding NO for both of us - my husband didn't want me to miss out on motherhood, either, despite what a mess I was at the time.
We entered the pregnancy cautiously, aware that my anxiety and dependencies could be a problem, and that the odds of a miscarriage for me were higher than the usual anyway, and with a tentative truce but not a lot of trust between us.
Only a few days after finding out I was pregnant, I developed morning sickness and with it the lovely pregnancy Super Power - Super Smell! The scent of cigarettes, alcohol, and oranges made me vomit. The oranges were unfortunate, but a worthwhile sacrifice for this aversion to make quitting smoking and drinking an easy, instantaneous choice that I've never looked back at in the 5 years since. For the record, I began smoking and drinking at the same time, when I was 18 years old, so these were 13 year old addictions.
The first trimester was just awful. I lost 17 pounds, and I lived each day in fear of one of two outcomes - miscarriage, or twins.
Ha ha, right? No, seriously, I was terrified of the idea of two babies at once, and they run heavily in both me and my husband's families. I was actually a twin, and my mother lost my twin early in the pregnancy. The odds seemed higher than usual.
At my 8 week appointment, I had my first ultrasound. My OB was beaming as she pointed out the two sacs with their tiny, pulsing hearts. I was crying through my laughter.
For four weeks, we wondered and adjusted to the idea and cautiously made plans of how we could make this work. We started discussing the idea of me quitting my job and opening an in-home daycare, so I could stay home with the babies and still bring some money in.
At 12 weeks, we went in for another appointment and another scan, and Baby B was gone.
They say that men grieve differently than women, and I suppose that is true, but only because people grieve differently than each other. He moved on from it that day, as a scientific fact rather than a loss, a defect which corrected itself and did it early enough (for him) so that there was no real attachment or pain. Baby B wasn't a baby, yet, for him.
For me, it's different, and has always been different. Imagine yourself in the weird situation of having a miscarriage without having a miscarriage. Imagine the shock and disbelief, and guilt, to find that your baby is just... gone, and you didn't even know. She (we never knew it was a she, but I picture her this way) must have passed shortly after our 8 week appointment, but there was no indication that anything was wrong, no size difference, and, most importantly - I never felt anything, or passed any blood. My baby who I had been terrified of having, had actually joked about ("God I hope it's not twins!" I joked almost every day during the 5-7 week range with coworkers who knew about my pregnancy because I was always throwing up), who I'd just started getting used to the idea of (a 2 for 1 special, if you will)... gone, and I didn't feel it happen.
💗
Imagine you had no one to talk to about losing your baby, and imagine that you're also still pregnant. More guilt, because you're happy you're still pregnant, more fear because what if you lose him, too? You find out it's a he and you start to paint murals in his room. You buy a single crib, and are relieved at the cost, then devastated a moment later when you remember starting to budget for two. You fill his room with hand-painted monkeys and an elephant, and sing "Baby Mine" to your rapidly expanding belly.
You glow with pregnancy in the second and third trimesters, but every moment is multifaceted with joy and pain and fear. Are you and your husband going to make it? Why won't he touch your belly to feel the baby move? When was the last time the baby moved, anyway? Why aren't you gaining more weight, and why is your belly so big? Hiccups feel like a tiny clock ticking, and if you push on the spot where his foot is, he will push back. Your skin and hair are amazing, and all you can eat is bacon and milkshakes right now because of the heartburn. You're pretty sure the bacon is causing the heartburn. If one more person jokes that it could be twins, you're going to snap, but you can't snap at work. Your wedding ring doesn't fit anymore, so you take it off, then get constant dirty looks because you look like you're sixteen, then a woman buys you a pedicure at the salon and says "Have a Happy baby!"
Then, then, then... he's here.
More later...
So I believe I left off with the story of my birth control malfunction. I was working at the time in retail, odd hours, and I took the pregnancy test on a whim when my period was overdue by a few hours in December of 2013. (The pill made it like clockwork. God I miss that.) I peed on the stick and then went outside for a cigarette, absolutely positive that I wasn't pregnant.
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear, but two distinct lines, so pink and clear. (What? It's Christmastime, and it was then, too!)
I was stunned. I threw away my cigarettes and poured my hidden booze down the drain then went to the store and bought three more tests (three different brands), just to be sure. They were all glaringly positive, despite the fact that I hadn't even technically missed a period yet. I called my husband and basically blurted out the news. He was quiet for a long time, then said we would talk about it that night.
I'm going to be super fucking real here, just FYI, and I know for a fact that, as a very liberal woman, some of my lifestyle choices and life choices or inclinations may offend. But I feel it's important for people to talk candidly about making these choices, rather than keeping them as shameful or secret things.
My husband and I had a lengthy discussion about abortion that night. We debated the pros and cons of bringing a child into this world together. Were we suited to be parents, together? Did we have the same goals and views on raising a human being? Would I be able to stop falling back on my familiar crutches (alcohol, marijuana, cigarettes), and if so, how long would that last? Did we even want to stay together, anyway - were our fights because of a basic incompatibility, or a phase, or my refusal to accept help or look within myself and become a healthier person? And do you ever know if you're making the right decision?
Ugh. It was a rough night.
In the end, we landed in the same place - keeping the baby, with a huge part of that reason being that I was already in my 30s, my mother had five miscarriages and only two children brought to term, and my prior surgery meant an increased risk for miscarriages, plus the first year that we were together and I couldn't afford birth control and we were a bit lax about using condoms and I never even had a pregnancy scare. What if I had an abortion, then I couldn't get pregnant, or had multiple miscarriages as I entered my mid-30s and beyond? It all boiled down to: what if this is my only chance to have a child - am I going to be okay with missing this?
The answer was a resounding NO for both of us - my husband didn't want me to miss out on motherhood, either, despite what a mess I was at the time.
We entered the pregnancy cautiously, aware that my anxiety and dependencies could be a problem, and that the odds of a miscarriage for me were higher than the usual anyway, and with a tentative truce but not a lot of trust between us.
Only a few days after finding out I was pregnant, I developed morning sickness and with it the lovely pregnancy Super Power - Super Smell! The scent of cigarettes, alcohol, and oranges made me vomit. The oranges were unfortunate, but a worthwhile sacrifice for this aversion to make quitting smoking and drinking an easy, instantaneous choice that I've never looked back at in the 5 years since. For the record, I began smoking and drinking at the same time, when I was 18 years old, so these were 13 year old addictions.
The first trimester was just awful. I lost 17 pounds, and I lived each day in fear of one of two outcomes - miscarriage, or twins.
Ha ha, right? No, seriously, I was terrified of the idea of two babies at once, and they run heavily in both me and my husband's families. I was actually a twin, and my mother lost my twin early in the pregnancy. The odds seemed higher than usual.
At my 8 week appointment, I had my first ultrasound. My OB was beaming as she pointed out the two sacs with their tiny, pulsing hearts. I was crying through my laughter.
For four weeks, we wondered and adjusted to the idea and cautiously made plans of how we could make this work. We started discussing the idea of me quitting my job and opening an in-home daycare, so I could stay home with the babies and still bring some money in.
At 12 weeks, we went in for another appointment and another scan, and Baby B was gone.
They say that men grieve differently than women, and I suppose that is true, but only because people grieve differently than each other. He moved on from it that day, as a scientific fact rather than a loss, a defect which corrected itself and did it early enough (for him) so that there was no real attachment or pain. Baby B wasn't a baby, yet, for him.
For me, it's different, and has always been different. Imagine yourself in the weird situation of having a miscarriage without having a miscarriage. Imagine the shock and disbelief, and guilt, to find that your baby is just... gone, and you didn't even know. She (we never knew it was a she, but I picture her this way) must have passed shortly after our 8 week appointment, but there was no indication that anything was wrong, no size difference, and, most importantly - I never felt anything, or passed any blood. My baby who I had been terrified of having, had actually joked about ("God I hope it's not twins!" I joked almost every day during the 5-7 week range with coworkers who knew about my pregnancy because I was always throwing up), who I'd just started getting used to the idea of (a 2 for 1 special, if you will)... gone, and I didn't feel it happen.
💗
Imagine you had no one to talk to about losing your baby, and imagine that you're also still pregnant. More guilt, because you're happy you're still pregnant, more fear because what if you lose him, too? You find out it's a he and you start to paint murals in his room. You buy a single crib, and are relieved at the cost, then devastated a moment later when you remember starting to budget for two. You fill his room with hand-painted monkeys and an elephant, and sing "Baby Mine" to your rapidly expanding belly.
You glow with pregnancy in the second and third trimesters, but every moment is multifaceted with joy and pain and fear. Are you and your husband going to make it? Why won't he touch your belly to feel the baby move? When was the last time the baby moved, anyway? Why aren't you gaining more weight, and why is your belly so big? Hiccups feel like a tiny clock ticking, and if you push on the spot where his foot is, he will push back. Your skin and hair are amazing, and all you can eat is bacon and milkshakes right now because of the heartburn. You're pretty sure the bacon is causing the heartburn. If one more person jokes that it could be twins, you're going to snap, but you can't snap at work. Your wedding ring doesn't fit anymore, so you take it off, then get constant dirty looks because you look like you're sixteen, then a woman buys you a pedicure at the salon and says "Have a Happy baby!"
Then, then, then... he's here.
More later...
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