The Girl Who Cried “Pregnant!"

>> Wednesday, September 16, 2015

It’s hard to even know what to say at this point.


Last September we had a chemical pregnancy after a while of trying for baby number 2. I thought it was the absolute worst experience ever. What a joke. Second line on the test for a few days. Then . . . it disappeared. Surely it was a fluke. Everyone told me I’d be more fertile after the miscarriage, but it took another six months to get pregnant again with “perfect” timing.

When we got pregnant again in February, I felt much more optimistic. The line kept getting darker. I had symptoms! I even got wicked morning sickness for weeks on end. This was IT, I thought. How could lightning strike twice? I even saw the heartbeat on ultrasound a few times. And then we lost that one, too, but it was so much more painful and complicated emotionally and physically.

And now I’m going through my third loss in a year. Again, it’s a chemical pregnancy. I got a positive test the day I was due with my period. Several days later, I noticed the line wasn’t as strong. My levels were at a measly 12 yesterday. The doctor -- optimistic -- put me on progesterone supplementation, but the test went stark white negative this morning -- it’s just delaying the inevitable.

Autumn used to be my favorite season, but I can’t quite say it is anymore. Especially this year as my due date looms in late October. It isn’t to say that my chemical pregnancies mean less to me, but I didn’t have much tangible with them. They were there and then they weren’t. Like a bad dream. I thought for sure I’d be pregnant by Halloween. The idea was holding my sanity together.

I used to feel so above this infertility thing. Ada resulted from just one try the first month we thought we might want a baby. I didn’t understand or appreciate the difficulty. I didn’t understand or appreciate the emotional strain. And with my own current situation, I can no longer accept this trend as simple statistics or the fact that I’m now 30/31/32 versus 27 and it’s just part of the deal.

It feels all too personal now.

Obviously I’ll be working closely with my fertility doctor (and regular physician) from now moving forward. I’ll probably chat about it from time to time on the blog, but I’m growing tired of TTC being everything I eat, live, and breathe. I mean, I am totally sick of being the girl who cried “pregnant!” And then bumming everyone out. I don’t want to be this obsessively charting or tracking crazy person, but there’s good reason that I should. Relaxing won’t help in our situation, no matter how much yoga* I do or how many green smoothies I suck down.

At the same time, I consciously left my full-time job to work from home and be a mom. It was a hard decision, but one I wholeheartedly embraced. This feels like a huge slap in the face and it actually making me have a bit of an identity crisis. Do I go back to work full-time? Do I give up and accept that we’re destined to only have one child? These are obviously questions I should probably bring to a therapist. And before you suggest it, I’ve already been browsing around.

I’ve finally taken down the crib and packed away all the baby stuff I had prematurely stationed in the (hopefully someday?) nursery. I couldn’t look at it anymore. I want to believe I’ll need it all again. That is, if most of it isn’t recalled or expired by then. Secondary infertility is just . . . so . . . draining. I love Ada more than anything in the world, and I so much appreciate this amazing opportunity to be a mom. I just never envisioned my life taking this path.

And I’m so sorry if you’re right there with me/us.

* As an aside, lately when I go to start my calming + restorative yoga routines on YouTube, I’m greeted with a nice long ad for Plan B. Holy cow, if I have to see that one again! I mean, seriously!

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