Today marks two whole months of being in my first trimester. Yup, I’m pregnant for the second time.
- Pregnancy Paranoia
- A Pregnant Tyrant
- Pregnant and Afraid
Just a few movie titles I have been working on based on my current emotional/ mental state. The reason for this semi break down ? Let me be the first to tell you that having a termination of my previous pregnancy a few (read: four) months ago hardly has me price checking the XARI stroller. The event left much to be desired in ever falling pregnant again, in fact before I even found out I was pregnant the first time my general attitude towards motherhood was:
- Not for me, thanks
- A kid with a man who was a kid himself? You’re ‘KIDDING’ me?!
- A neurotic, pill-for-every-problem mom?! Hell no ( swallows migraine cocktail)
I could never understand how people went on about the miracle of childbirth? Isn’t a miracle supposed to be, well, miraculous? Not something that takes place every (insert random birth statistic) few seconds all around the world ?
Even so, armed with a healthy dose of pessimism and a handy dose of migraine meds when the second line appeared on that very first stick, the very first time I fell pregnant I felt (gasp) excited. I took a good, hard look at my life and realized my “career” (LOL..major LOL) was hardly fulfilling as it had been in my first few glory months (mind you at the time of jotting this memoir I have only been in my position for like, 8 months) if anything I felt more and more connected to my life at home.
All of this was very far from my born-in-the-90s career girl war cries but, whatever. I woke up on my twenty firth birthday hungover from years of social media indulgence and material consumption. I felt so done with it. Discovering I had to have a termination was to say the least, disappointing. I felt like I had come so close to contentment, so close to something that was just in its simplest form- mine.
Fast forward to two months later…
Although my period had come back post termination, the following month- not so much. I blamed it on termination technicalities and didn’t give it any thought. That is until certain symptoms had like, zero chill. There, for the second time in my life I walked through a mall pregnancy stick, or five hidden in my bag headed for a rest room cubicle. I was pregnant for the second time. YAY?
Nay! Every bone in my body went into fright or flight mode. I felt more than ready to flight but where to? This was a part of me now no matter what and it was really just time to fight!
I knew I had to see my gynae faster than the time it took me to get here again. Knowing I would need a professional consultation filled me with dread. Who knew what I’d be advised to do this time around. The thought of having to spend another night in a room reeking of anti septic solution bleeding out another little baby was to real too ignore. (More on this in a more appropriate post)
Said appointment was made and I dragged my feet adorned in Eid finery (the date coincided with Eid and I took it as a sign that this would be a celebration?) off to the doctors rooms ready to have my insides prodded and poked. Round one went well. They found the black hole of magic in my milky way and I was given a congratulatory pat between the legs. Kidding, but basically. Everyone right down to the receptionist seemed genuinely ecstatic for me.
I beamed back gratefully but deep down inside my sock was falling off. Seriously , I was petrified. The horror and fear of the unknown was too great to overcome. I recited every prayer in my very limited prayer vocabulary and could still feel my heart racing. I wanted this so bad. It was no where near to my previous “needs” standing inside Zara with the “world’s most beautiful shoes” holding my breath as I waited to hear if they had stock of my size or waiting two long months to hear if I had landed the job of my dreams etc etc. No, this was a permanent need, I knew I would do whatever I could to hold a perfect little angel against my chest and call her mine.