It was Christmas Eve, and I was home from work early, having a meltdown. I was getting ready for our evening festivities, when I discovered a small amount of pink spotting.
Once again, my hopes and dreams of a baby were dashed by the imminent arrival of my period. For the last two weeks I had been wondering if I was pregnant, and hoping desperately that I was. I was nothing but irritable and crabby (though between losing my grandmother and dealing with the holidays while working in retail with new, inexperienced coworkers, some level of irritability was inevitable), but this was like PMS on steroids. I’d also been having cramps and wicked breast tenderness off and on for at least a week, but that was fairly normal for me.
So when that bit of spotting appeared, I dreaded it more intensely for several reasons:
Once again, my hopes and dreams of a baby were dashed by the imminent arrival of my period. For the last two weeks I had been wondering if I was pregnant, and hoping desperately that I was. I was nothing but irritable and crabby (though between losing my grandmother and dealing with the holidays while working in retail with new, inexperienced coworkers, some level of irritability was inevitable), but this was like PMS on steroids. I’d also been having cramps and wicked breast tenderness off and on for at least a week, but that was fairly normal for me.
So when that bit of spotting appeared, I dreaded it more intensely for several reasons:
- Christmas is about celebrating a baby, and I was beginning to doubt that God wanted me to have a baby. I never doubted that He could give me one, but I had begun to doubt that He would.
- With the loss of my grandma so fresh, I felt like I couldn’t take anymore disappointment this Christmas.
- If my level of irritability and rage over the last two weeks wasn’t related to pregnancy, it meant that I was likely certifiably crazy and should have my head examined.
Eventually I pulled myself together and we had an enjoyable Christmas Eve despite our silent disappointment. During Mass I felt very close to my grandma, and felt a deep sense of peace, and an oddly renewed sense of hope. I went from thinking there was a 1% chance I was pregnant to a 2% chance, which may not seem like a lot, but trust me, was significant. The evening ended on a high note, with several unexpected but great gifts, and a lot of laughter.
Christmas morning I decided to quietly take a pregnancy test. My period still hadn’t come on full force, and I didn’t want to waste the holiday away wondering if it would come or not.
Almost immediately, the single line became a plus sign. Freaking out, I set the test on the side of the sink and went and sat on the couch for the allotted three minutes. You know, in case it decided to change its mind.
Shaking, I got up after three minutes to find that no, in fact, the test had NOT changed its mind. I was pregnant. It said so. That holy little plus sign. The perfect Christmas gift. The gift I had begun to imagine I would never receive. I woke my husband up and shared the news and we embraced in disbelief.
It all felt too good to be true.
For years we had tried. We had done tests and I had done minor procedures and taken hormone suppositories and injections, all in an attempt to help our chances. After being referred to an infertility specialist who essentially told us he could make our babies FOR us AND THEN FREEZE THEM and then THAW them before INJECTING them into me, where they would *maybe* survive, we knew more than ever with a passionate conviction that if we couldn’t have kids on our own, then we wouldn’t have them.
We decided to take a breather from all things fertility. And a few months later, there we were: pregnant.
Having been through “infertility” (I hesitate to put us in that category because, honestly, I hate that word. A lot of “infertile” people are actually fertile, it’s just not as quick and easy for them to get pregnant, e.g. us. But the emotions and struggles we experienced over almost three years of trying to conceive were, I believe, universal in the “infertility” world.), I always hated to hear people say, “If you just relax and stop trying, it will happen.” Which I hated and thought was stupid. But then we stopped “trying” and it happened.
Like I said earlier, it seemed too good to be true. I could hardly believe it. As fun as it would have been to break the news to family on Christmas, I still had a nagging feeling that any day now I could still get my period and it would all be over, so we decided to wait at least until after our first doctor’s appointment.
I had been told that with my low progesterone and endometriosis and whatnot, I was at a higher risk for miscarriage. My more holistic NaPro doctor who had so often prescribed me progesterone and had my blood drawn regularly to check my levels had coincidentally taken a year of leave (which was why we ended up at the dreaded fertility specialist in the first place), and I was left with a more modern OB. I decided to trust, even as the anxiety crept in.
All these years, we’d known it was all part of God’s timing. Even when things had seemed perfect in our minds, like they should totally work out, God had other plans. We trusted Him with this as well.
When I hadn’t gotten my period a week later and began to have some intense food aversions, I let it sink in. I’m really pregnant. This is really happening. There’s a little person in there.
Two days later, I started spotting.
Two days later, I started spotting.
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