Have a pregnancy

On Saturday I passed the 15 week mark. It’s a funny time of pregnancy isn’t it? There is definitely a belly but it’s not too prominent. You’ve reached the high of hitting the second trimester yet you (I) still fall asleep by 9.30 every night. The promised land of symptom free post 12 weeks has not materialised and then you realise it was really only a ruse used to get to week 12 without tearing your hair out. I totally fell for it… yet here I am still tired, still feeling sick and now happily aware that neither of these things matter at all.

This has been the epiphany of my second pregnancy. How I feel these 9 months (or is it 10 months? Pregnancy math confuses the hell out of me) is completely irrelevant. Sick, tired, narky? It doesn’t matter. Itchy boobs, stretch marks, weight gain? Pfff what did you expect? I, bolstered by Hollywood/ Instagram’s perception of the pregnancy journey, had me expecting flowing skirts in hay fields with floral crowns, bralets and a big beautiful belly. That may still happen however I’ve come to realise that whether it does or doesn’t is inconsequential to the purpose of pregnancy.

Pregnancy is about life, it’s about a woman’s body bearing a child. It is a job your body has undertaken on a 9/10 month contract with a really stressful 12 week probationary period. Hopefully along the way you have fields of gold, and moments of eating cereal off a rounded moving tray, but if not….it doesn’t even matter.

I’m sure that for some people this sounds depressing, unromantic, harsh but for me it’s been quite freeing. Knowing that what I’m currently going through is not meant to be of benefit to me is a relief. It focusses me on July, when all of this sickness, this exhaustion will result in a new future. A new human has to be the result of hard work right? It could never be a walk in the park.

I am sure this frame of mind is largely down to my miscarriage. My first pregnancy was certainly more romantic. The telling of my partner, the rubbing of a belly that hadn’t started to grow yet…all moments that I hold so precious. However the romance of that pregnancy did not lead to a little person. This pregnancy, which was very practical and unromantic for the whole first trimester, will hopefully result in the family we have been planning for.

Just to clarify I’m not saying happy pregnancies result in miscarriage…clearly…I mean please you know that? What I am questioning however is what would happen if we released ourselves from the pressure of loving a pregnancy; of rejoicing in it and shouting about how much we welcome the sickness for fear of anyone thinking we are ungrateful for this gift? That release – for me – has let me enjoy the pregnancy even more! It has taken away disappointment from the days when I feel none of those things.

There are so many forums on pregnancy, and in every one there is a topic where a Mom-to-be discusses how hard she is finding it, and the guilt that this brings. Before she even gets to sharing why she is finding it hard, she apologises for doing so. It’s an internal pressure that is compounded by external forces. Those forces are many – media, family and friends, and people like me who had a miscarriage or are experiencing fertility issues. When I had a miscarriage I couldn’t care less how much your pregnancy hurt you, honestly I wanted you to shut up complaining and be grateful! Yes I was am my own worst enemy!

I know this pregnancy is a gift and I dare anyone to challenge me on how much I appreciate that. I speak to my baby, I do everything physically possible to make sure it is safe. I will buy the dungarees I always dreamt of wearing when pregnant. But I will also know that whether wonderful or awful, this pregnancy is not about me. It’s about bringing life into the world. And that is the crux for me – remove the guilt you feel about the pregnancy not being all you wanted. It is what it is. It is wonderful or it makes you feel terrible. The end result is the baby, not the experience.

Hint though – don’t moan to those who want to be pregnant and are not. That just makes you a bit of an asshole. If you want to figure out who you can moan to read this and follow the logic, www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-oe-0407-silk-ring-theory-20130407-story.html

So in summary what am I saying? My message is Have a Pregnancy and don’t stress about what adjective to use until the end of it.

Could it be?

As you can see my great intentions to write post miscarriage stayed as just that….an intention. It was for a couple of reasons. One was because I was struggling with getting through each day and writing it down just seemed a bit miserable. Then amidst the struggle I found out that I was pregnant again and really had no idea what to feel let alone write.

Pregnancy after miscarriage, life after death, was a whole new learning. I want to say I was happy, I felt lucky, I had hope but I didn’t. I wasn’t sad, of course it was good news – but only if the baby survived which there was no way of knowing would be the case. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to suffer another loss, I really didn’t want to have to be.

I was scared, I am scared.

On our first pregnancy I set up the scene of telling my husband, it was beautiful. I will never forget the look on his face. It was that memory that stung so hard after our miscarriage – to know that I had to let go of that moment because it no longer existed in the way it had. On this pregnancy I told him when we were changing the sheets on the bed. I whispered it and then we went to meet friends for the night. For the next few weeks we discussed very little about it, my choice more than his. He was happy but he knew….a positive pregnancy result can mean nothing at all.

I felt a lot sicker with this pregnancy, I was exhausted all the time. From 2pm until I gave up and went to bed I was sick. My appetite was insatiable, my boobs were sore and heavy. All signs of a good pregnancy and as the days and weeks continued a little bubble of hope was growing. At 8.5 weeks we had a reassurance scan, the name itself comforted me. The day arrived, the middle of December and the day before my Mothers 14^th anniversary, it’s amazing how we look for little signs when we need them. I couldn’t look at the monitor for fear of what I wouldn’t see but there it was, a beautiful blob with a spinning top in the middle that our midwife said was our babies’ heart. It spun around hypnotising us as it did. We had never seen our first babies’ heart beating so here was the first indication for me that things were different.

We left the appointment and I saw the face again. The joy of pregnancy, of a future, of our dreams realised. It was there on my husband. We wandered around Grafton Street in a happy daze. He kissed me under the Christmas lights – he held me tight, brought me into him and kissed me hard. It was a kiss to breath the life back into me, to show me that together we had been through the worst and here was the best.

The scan gave me the hope I needed to accept the sickness and know that this time it may not end with pain. We told family and friends over Christmas but I was still apprehensive. I didn’t want to be imprisoned by the fear that my miscarriage had left me with and sharing the news seemed like a step towards breaking free from it. I told people with my eyes slightly squinted though, as if I was telling bad news. I still couldn’t believe that I wasn’t. I planned for how we would follow up when the pregnancy ended again, I had conversations to this effect in my head so that I could be more prepared this time. My poor baby, it started life with a mother who had no faith in it. I feel so guilty for that.

On January 7^th we had a 12 week scan as part of our booking appointment. There on the screen appeared our baby. It was a tiny miraculous human dancing for its Mom and Dad. Its little legs kicked up to meet its waving arms. It moved so much the sonographer got different measurements each time. A happy baby was what we were told from a laughing consultant, our happy baby.

We left the appointment and for the first time in my pregnancy I rubbed my belly. I spoke to my child that had danced for me. I thanked it for showing us just how alive it is. I thanked our first baby for preparing my body to welcome its sibling, for showing me through its own death that without any doubts I desperately wanted, and was ready, to be a Mom.

So here I am now. 13 weeks and two days pregnant. I believe it is happening and while July is a terrifying amount of time away I have let myself accept that maybe this time I will get a rainbow from the storm.