It started with cramps. Slight twinges, tugs, a sense of something unseen being manipulated, deep within.
Of course I analyzed, over-analyzed and researched every twang, every pulling sensation, certain that it had to MEAN something.
Then came the backaches. Deep in my tailbone a dull ache would start, softly at first, building throughout the day to a dry, creaky crescendo.
I thought I was pregnant.
We were “trying” you see. It was our first month and I (in a surprisingly optimistic turn) felt sure that this one single solitary month had done it. As D-Day (P-Day?) approached, I was walking around on cloud 9, serenely, smugly sure that I was “with child”, to use one of those twee, gag-inducing phrases you think you’ll never use until suddenly- happily!- you do.
I shared my symptoms and suspicions with Adam, who (wisely, and ever so gently) expressed his doubts that it could happen so quickly, not only because the thought was terrifying, but because pre-“trying” , I had cautioned him against exactly this sort of optimism. I told him numerous times that it usually takes up to a year for a normal, healthy couple to conceive.
And yet.
“A woman knows” I replied, returning his doubtful comments with a zen smile.
Looking back I can’t believe he didn’t spit out his coffee listening to that bullshit.
Needless to say I was not, in fact, pregnant.
My period arrived merrily right on schedule, as it always has, and when the realization dawned on me I was momentarily bewildered, then (I’ll admit) slightly disappointed, then (I’ll admit) slightly relieved.
Then it seemed funny. Really funny.
Like most women, I think, I’ve been terrified of getting pregnant since I was a teen. Every year that passed marked 12 successful months of thwarting Mother Nature- that fertile old crone who threatened to impregnate me if I so much as LOOKED at that cute soccer player in Soci 101.
And despite two enthusiastic sets of in-laws who would have welcomed a baby out of wedlock with open arms (and indeed as we took 6 years to get engaged, at times seemed to be pushing us happily in that direction) nonetheless, when Adam and DID finally tie the knot I felt like I was breathing an audible sigh of relief.
If we got pregnant now it would seem planned! I wouldn’t have to justify anything! Nothing would have to be explained, or managed or dealt with!
But still, we weren’t anxious for children, it didn’t seem like the clock was ticking.
Selfishly, I loved our time together by ourselves. Just us. When asked by a friend when we were going to get around to having children of our own, I replied that I wasn’t done having Adam all to myself yet.
We slept late, had lazy days, sometimes went on spontaneous trips to Seattle or exploratory day hikes in the mountains surrounding our town. It wasn’t a wild or exceptional life, but it was ours and ours alone.
I wasn’t ready to surrender that. Not yet.
And then after all this time spent trying to prevent this biological imperative at any cost, employing pills and shots and sometimes, (only a few times) fevered, privately whispered prayers, here I was, smugly sure that it would happen the moment we stopped that prevention, that attempt at escaping our future.
So, when found out I wasn’t pregnant, I sheepishly told Adam and we both laughed at me and my sage wisdom and my zen-like smile and life went on.
Until one moment a few short months later when life just stopped. Skipped a beat. Within that single, defining moment life didn’t simply go on, it expanded, exploded – pulled apart our cozy little circle of two and insisted that we make room for a third. A teeny, tiny third.
And instead of feeling threatened or scared or apprehensive or anxious, I instead felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me.
“Of course” I thought to myself as I stared in wonder at that second pink line. “Why did we wait so long?”
Internets, I am pregnant.
Tickle by AllEyesOpen
We are due in October and this little baby is so anticipated and so welcomed and so loved already- we truly couldn’t be happier.
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