People always have cute stories about how they told their partner they are pregnant. Just do a quick YouTube search, and you will see countless videos of people announcing their pregnancies in creative, cute, and occasional stupid ways. You can peruse Pinterest for ideas for adorable Facebook announcements or how to tell your spouse or partner. It’s a time of joy, and to be honest, I thought I’d get to share that joy one day.
The first pregnancy, I freaked out when I saw the test turn a faint positive. I took a photo to ask certain people in my life if they could see it. And after my sister drove all the way to my town (I lived forty-five minutes away) to confirm it in person, I was through the roof excited. I couldn’t stop giggling all day. My birthday was a couple days away, so I deviced a plan to tell my husband by having my friends bring a ”present” for us. They recorded the husbeast’s reaction to seeing the test for the first time. It was funny, but this story never got shared until now.
The second time I saw the faint line, the husband was home and sleep in our bed. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. I knew there would be no adorable way to tell him this time. So I crawled into bed and woke him up. I showed him the test silently. He looked at it, and I asked if he saw the faint line. When he confirmed that it was there, he held me as I cried. I cried in fear and joy, but mostly fear. I was so scared of losing another pregnancy. So the husband held me as I cried and sorted through what this all meant. Then we got up for breakfast. For the next couple months, I would replay that moment in my head, wondering how I would tell the cold growing in me about the moment I found out I was pregnant with them. However that moment will never come.
If there is a next time, I wonder if there will be any joy in finding out we have gotten pregnant yet again. I know there will be no relief. I know there will be fear. But will I find any hope? Will I let myself feel any joy? Knowing myself, I probably try to be robotic about it. I will try like hell not to hope until there is a living, healthy child in my arms. I know that hearing the heartbeat will mean nothing to me because I heard it and saw it with the second one. There was a beautiful, strong heartbeat, but that baby is now gone. I will know that there is no promise of a baby at the end of a pregnancy if I ever find myself pregnant again.
I know that there will probably never be a cutesy surprise announcement for my husband and family. I know that fear will grasp at my heart if I ever see a faint line again. The turmoil of loving another child that might not make it will try to drown me in guilt and pain. There will be no cutesy announcement if the time ever comes because cutesy ended with this last pregnancy. Hope ended with this last pregnancy. Instead we will wait and pray and hold our breath until there is a living, breathing baby in my arms.