I took the test as a joke. A big joke.
I thought that if I took it, it would say “not pregnant” but I got the surprise of a lifetime, a surprise I didn’t want.
After getting pregnant with my son and then nursing him for over a year, I was ready to have my body back just for a little. My husband and I planned that we would get pregnant in the fall. That would allow me time to just feel like ME again. Time I knew I needed but wasn’t willing to really admit aloud. To be honest, I had a relatively easy nursing journey, all things considered, and I was proud of that journey. I thought that a few months to myself was just what I needed to be ready to do it again. Having my body back to eat what I want, lose the baby weight (finally) and drink what I want, be in a wedding, all the things that being pregnant weren’t really conducive to…
But here we are. I am pregnant, and the first thing I did when I found out was cry.
I mourned the summer I thought I would have. I mourned the limited time my son had as an only child. Soon he will have to share his mama, his whole world… I mourned my freedom. Freedom to drink what I want, eat what I want, do what I want.
Do you realize how many drinking weekends I had planned with my friends? Every weekend. Every single one this summer. I laugh thinking about it, because now, being so early and keeping this colossal secret, I make excuses for every event. “My son is sick” is the one I tell the most, and I’m starting to think my friends think I’m a negligent mom for letting him get sick so much.
Maybe I am though. Not to him but to this unborn baby, whomever he or she is. I had a little pep talk with this baby, told it I wasn’t sure how I felt. Told it I wasn’t sure if I wanted it. I felt like the worst mom ever but also, my truth was being spoken aloud to the world. When my husband told me “some people hope and pray for something that we just got so easily” I cried more. Cried for those moms who want this more than I do. Cried for those moms who are so willing to go through the nausea, the puking, the tired days, just so they can hold a little bundle at the end.
I felt so bad. I felt like a fraud. Why do I deserve a baby that I didn’t even pray for while so many pray and don’t receive?
Maybe I am though. A fraud that is. I feel sick and out of control of who I am daily being pregnant. I remember with my son I was ecstatic to tell everyone so they knew we had this wonderful baby coming. Right now, I just feel pressure to tell everyone so I no longer feel like a fraud.
I spent the first week crying and crying. Every time I thought about it, I’d take another test hoping it would say “not pregnant” and I’d get the results “pregnant” again. I spent the first week apologizing to my son for not waiting a little longer, for stealing his time away with mama, for not being more careful.
Then one day I opened my eyes and I was excited. I was overjoyed. I was blessed.
That feeling has stuck with me since then and I’ve been confused by it. Do I deserve to feel THIS way after feeling what I felt before? Maybe that’s a question just for me to answer? Something I need to reflect and pray on. But I am so happy to be pregnant now. Yes, the nausea sucks and I am tired, oh so tired. But I have my baby on earth and my belly babe, and I’ve never felt more complete. More whole. More deserving.