After experiencing a chemical pregnancy in June, I made the statement that I would still immediately announce any future pregnancy I might experience to the world. That has turned out to be a lie. I wasn’t intentionally dishonest, but at the time I could not have known how it would feel to see the word “Pregnant” in a testing window again. When I did see that word, about four weeks ago, I found that announcing my news was the last thing that I wanted to do. I told my husband, and a few people very close to me, but I found myself phrasing the news with words like “I think,” “might” and “maybe.”
This may sound strange, but I think when I found out I was pregnant in June a part of me immediately knew that something wasn’t right. It was unexpected. The timing was off. Maybe I felt like if I told people about it I could make it be true, I could erase that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach with smiles and feigned joy. Though I was saddened when the pregnancy did not work out, I cannot say that I was completely surprised. This time, despite outwardly seeming unsure about it, I knew in my gut that I was pregnant and that things would work out just fine. I knew that this was it. Is it. I am eight weeks pregnant. I’ve seen the baby through ultrasound. I’ve listened to its heartbeat. In early June I will have another child.
I think that I have put off announcing the news mostly because I’ve needed time to accept it myself. I should be ecstatic. I have accomplished my goal, done what I set out to do. This time I was actively trying to get pregnant. I wanted it desperately, and the months of trying have been agonizing. Now though, instead of feeling unfettered joy I find myself stuck with the thought of, “Holy shit. What the hell have I done?” I don’t think I’ve ever felt so completely terrified.
How am I going to manage Emma and being pregnant? The general achiness, numbing fatigue and mildly nauseous feeling that follow me around constantly have already made things difficult. I feel like I don’t have the energy or strength to deal with her. And then I get to add overwhelming guilt to my list of ailments. I feel very alone. With my husband on the road most of the time and my mom buried in schoolwork, I feel as though I have to deal with more than I can handle in my depleted state. Being pregnant with Emma was so much easier. Whatever made me think that being pregnant and being responsible for a toddler at the same time was a good, or even manageable, idea?
And if I can’t even manage Emma and being pregnant, how the hell am I going to manage Emma and a newborn? I can’t even think about middle of the night feedings without getting choked up. Bottles. Formula. Burp clothes and bibs and spit up. Blow outs. There is so much that I don’t miss about having a little baby around. And now, in just seven short months, I get to experience all of that again. This time though, I get to experience it with a two year old in tow. Really, what the hell have I done?
I realize that this is all so negative, and that is not what an announcement of a new life should be. Sometimes, I do feel excited. I did want this at one point. I think when the first trimester fog lifts I will remember exactly why. Emma needs a sibling. If you read my previous blog you will understand just how desperately. I know that my family is not complete right now. I always intended to have more than just one child. And I know that, even though new babies are demanding and needy, they are also pretty adorable. I think Emma will be an amazing big sister. I can’t wait to see how she reacts to a new baby in the house. Even though she is temperamental at best, I have faith that she will love the new baby with her entire little heart.
So there it is. My big announcement. I am pregnant. Holy shit.