Being Pregnant Terrifies Me

For two years I waited for the word “Pregnant” to flash on the test screen. For two years, all I saw was “Not Pregnant.” For two years I longed for another baby to fill another bedroom. For two years, I walked by the baby aisles in hopes that someday I’d be back. For two years, I congratulated and celebrated with friends as they welcomed sweet babies into the world.

In February 2016, I finally got to see the word “Pregnant” on the stick. Finally, my dream was happening. Finally, I could celebrate. But, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t tell my husband for three days. {Now, don’t judge. I’ve spent countless hours of searching Pinterest for ways to announce a pregnancy. So, I definitely wasn’t going to send a casual text saying, “Oh hey, BTW I’m pregnant. Thanks man.”  Long story kind of short, I announced it with our annual homemade Valentine’s Day card.}

Now, don’t get me wrong; I was excited. I searched Pinterest for gender reveals, looked at boy clothes and girl clothes, and daydreamed about the nursery.

But deep down, I was terrified.

I suffered an early miscarriage with my first pregnancy, but went on to have a healthy baby girl after. I should be calmed by the fact I did have a healthy pregnancy. To those who have never suffered through a miscarriage, it scars you. You hope for the best, prepare for the worst. It stays with you, every day.

At six weeks I had contraction-like cramping. Like, stop you in your tracks, take a deep breath cramps. Wake you up in the middle of the night type of cramping. I knew it was over. I prepared myself. I called the doctor. By the time he called me back, I had thrown up saltines and water, and felt much better. I kindly requested Zofran. Phew. Let’s see if that helps.

At seven weeks, the cramping was still there. I tried to not be a wimp, but I was terrified and it was unbearable, so I called the doctor again. I told them of the cramping and of course, was asked to come in that afternoon.

After an ultrasound with a beating heart and everything looking fine, I breathed a little relief. But, I was still terrified. I was scared to go to the bathroom in the chance I would see blood. I was scared the dream would end before I had a baby in my arms.

In those two years of waiting and wanting, I had a close friend lose two babies at seventeen weeks and another baby less than 24 hours after birth. I talked with a friend whose child was born with a chromosomal abnormality who passed in her arms shortly after birth. I read blogs of women losing babies at all stages of pregnancies and after birth. As traumatized as I am, I apparently like to torture myself with knowing more ways that my child could die. I like to be informed, perhaps?

Anxiety and fear have consumed this pregnancy. At 28 weeks (hello third trimester), you’d think I’d be calm as a cucumber sitting in a decorated nursery surrounded by all things baby. But instead, at 28 weeks, I’m researching places to have an elective ultrasound–just to check on the baby in my belly one more time. The baby that kicks me all day long. The baby who has checked out perfectly in every appointment and ultrasound thus far.

This baby, a girl, is due on my 30th birthday. This baby, a sister for my daughter, is already so loved by her. This baby, a baby that’s been dreamed about, will be treasured.

I can’t wait to see my oldest be a role model, best friend, and sister.

I can’t wait to see my two girls loving each other.

But until then, I’ll still count kicks. And I’ll make that ultrasound appointment…just to be sure.