First beta confirmed. Second beta more than doubled. I am pregnant. (I can’t believe that I just wrote that. If I say it out loud, the words catch in my throat.) M and I are in shock. We look at each other, bewildered. After years of experiencing so much pain and grief relating to the subjects of pregnancy and children, it is so very strange to have a positive, hopeful feelings about a pregnancy. Our pregnancy. We still feel like outsiders; like it isn’t safe for us to believe this.
I’ve always been a planner. Seven years ago I embarked on “preparing my body for pregnancy,” because I had read that it’s good to get ready before you even try to conceive. I began taking prenatal vitamins. I started exercising more regularly, and being careful about what I was eating (like trying to only consume organic fruits and vegetables). I eliminated all skincare and makeup products from my routine that were not approved for use during pregnancy. I read articles about parenting. I bought a book about maternal fitness. I read “Taking Charge of Your Fertility” and started taking my temperature each morning and meticulously charting my cycles.
Over the past several years, so many of those “responsible” actions became painful reminders of infertility. The time and energy I spent doing them felt like such a waste. Gradually the conception/pregnancy books were replaced by books about infertility. And then at one point I took all of the books relating to both topics and hid them away in a closet, out of view. I stopped charting. I skipped my vitamins from time to time. I became more invested in my work.
My faith has significantly changed. This is worthy of a separate post (or a few posts) by itself, but it’s a huge part of how infertility has transformed me. I believe that my present view is more complete, and more true, but sometimes I miss the comfort I used to derive from my belief that everything was happening according to a divine and good plan. My prayers are quite different than they used to be.
And now, this. I’m pregnant. The Silya of six years ago would already be planning and preparing. But instead I’m paralyzed with wonder and a seeming inability to focus on what might possibly need to be done. Perhaps that’s because all I should do is simply sit and let myself feel that this has happened. At last. I obviously have no control over what may come in the coming weeks and months, and am all too aware that this pregnancy may be fleeting. But I don’t want to borrow trouble. I want to let myself feel this, and not turn hope away when it starts to rear its head. I don’t feel safe doing this. But I suppose I have at least learned that life isn’t safe. So here’s to this moment, right now, when I can say: I am pregnant.