estimated weight: 155
Feeling: exhausted, full-bladdered
It's been a week since I found out I am pregnant. I'm still in a bit of disbelief.
Not that this was a surprise pregnancy; in fact, we'd been trying for several months. This particular month, however, we only "tried" once during the week you're supposed to try, and I felt that pokey ovulation pain at least a day after we'd tried. In my mind I'd decided there was just no way it was going to happen this month. NO. WAY.
I didn't even get suspicious when my (mostly) normal 28-day cycle extended to 29, 30, and 31 days. It wasn't until day 32, right after I dropped off our 3-year-old daughter at preschool, that I gave it a second thought. As I was walking to the car, I realized I had to pee, but then I remembered I'd had to pee just before we'd left the house, too. The first inkling of, "maybe I'm pregnant," sparkled in my mind, but I quickly dismissed it with a, "there's no way, remember?"
Still, I found myself driving to the local pharmacy and buying a 2-pack pregnancy test. Even as I was peeing on the test I kept telling myself, "it's going to be negative, it's going to be negative." When I put it on the counter and began watching the urine seep it's way up the stick, I saw the one line go pink and it confirmed my diagnosis. "See, not pregnant."
After washing and drying my hands, I glanced over at the test one more time and then my heart stopped. Two lines. TWO. LINES. And they weren't faint lines like with my first pregnancy where my husband stood examining the stick like it was an mercury thermometer and saying, "I don't see anything." There was no doubting the lines on this test. I just... stood there, blinking and squinting to be sure I was seeing it right. Then, genius that I am, I looked into the mirror for a reaction, as if my reflection was another person with whom I was sharing this moment. I stared back at myself with an open mouth and wide eyes.
My husband was giddy when I told him, which was adorable. I'm excited, too. I'm thrilled, really. Though I don't know if this pregnancy will continue to full term, I feel incredibly grateful that we're able to conceive, and I'm doing everything I can to make sure I'm giving this little embryo a safe and healthy gestational home.
The thing is, when I think of once the baby is here, and we're back to our day to day life, I get a little freaked out. Our current routine is comfortable. I've adjusted to it. A baby is going to throw a pretty big monkey wrench into things. I fear I won't adjust well. I fear I won't adjust at all. I mean, I know I will, eventually, but it's still a fear.
You know these families who have x number of kids, and they make it look like second nature? I'm in awe of those people. I want them to get together and teach a class on how they do it. I'm not saying I'm a bad mom. Actually, I think I'm a good mom, but it's a lot of work. It's not this effortless endeavor that I imagined it to be before my first child was born and that I'm imagining it is for other parents. Some things are instinctual - like ensuring my daughter's safety or comforting her when she's upset. The rest of parenthood, however, is work, and I'm concerned that adding a second child will be doubling that work (or more). I want to say I'm easily rise to the challenge, but I'm scared it'll take time. Too much time.
My husband tells me I'm a pessimist. I'm beginning to believe him.
After calling the OB and making an appointment, I panicked and peed on another stick. Still positive. So, we're having another baby. Let the adventure begin.
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