Today I am 9 weeks and 2 days pregnant. But even as I write that, I feel like I’m an imposter- an infertile just pretending to be pregnant. That can’t be me I’m talking about!
I’ve kept my promise to be positive about this pregnancy with Mr. T: I smile and hug him when he asks how baby and I are doing; I humor him when he talks to my tummy. But the sad thing is, I still don’t believe it.
That’s the first of my confessions. Some other confessions:
1. I’m still jealous of pregnant ladies. Now that it’s spring, there seems to be an abundance of baby bumps out and about. I still look at them and wonder if they know how lucky they are. I still don’t feel like one of them. And yes, I’m still jealous of them.
2. I want a baby belly- even if it’s made of pie. Confession #1 brings me to confession #2. I don’t feel like one of “them,” but I want to be. I want a baby bump too. I’ve never had to diet to keep to my size 4 and I know I’m lucky for that. But I’m ready to have a huge belly. Then I would believe this dream was real, right? My tummy is looking a bit rounder these days, but it very well could be from the extra helpings of pie combined with all the IVF drugs. In fact, here’s the big confession: I’m having extra helpings of pie because I want to look pregnant as soon as possible. Just go ahead and call me sad, crazy and desperate.
3. When I called the OB clinic to make my first appointment, I felt like they were going to discover at any moment I was an infertile imposter. I might as well have been calling Harvard Law School’s admissions office to tell them out of the blue that I’d like to attend. Acceptance to an OB still seems that impossible to me. The kind receptionist at the clinic definitely thinks I’m crazy. When she answered, I launched into an explanation about how “I never thought I’d ever gradate to this point, but ‘they say I’m pregnant’- I mean I guess I am pregnant-I just went through three rounds of IVF and I have an ultrasound to prove that I am- and I guess I need to make an appointment- but I have no idea how any of this works.” She scheduled an appointment for me. And I’m sure made a star next to my name to warn the others that I would be a neurotic one.
4. I’m still making contingency plans. Some friends are thinking of running a half marathon at the end of the summer. If “things don’t work out” I’m going to join them. Mr. T is planning to visit friends in Germany for Oktoberfest. If “things don’t work out” I’ll join him. Even if “things do work out” I’m continuing to look into adoption for #2. (Mr. T is an only child- and my biggest nightmare is to end up like his overly doting mother- another blog post for another time.)
5. I want to feel something. Anything. I’m tempted to eat gag-worthy foods just so I can experience that heralded sign of pregnancy. I try to convince myself I have cravings- but let’s be honest, chocolate doesn’t count. I’m not even that hungry- most days I have to convince myself to eat since nothing really sounds good. Wait- maybe that is a symptom?
6. I have survivor’s guilt. I haven’t fought this infertility battle alone. So many strong, kind, courageous women have been fighting by my side, helping me step by step. Many of them continue to fight, and I wish more than anything that I could take them all to the other side with me.
7. I’m afraid if the Gods notice too I’m happy, they will take it all away. So I try and be quiet. Not too hard since I’m still petrified. If I could have it my way, I wouldn’t tell anyone about this pregnancy until we had our baby in our arms. It just seems like the safest way not to draw the Gods’ attention to our good fortune. So far you all are the only ones to know- I figure my secret is safe here since my identity is by first name only. Surely the Gods would need a last name and address to find me.
June 9th is the target date circled in red on my calendar when I dream of sailing off into the happily-ever-after of pregnancy. It happens to be the 11th anniversary of the day Mr. T and I met- which I hope is a good omen for our first visit to the OB. We’ll be 10 weeks 5 days on that date.
If all is well, maybe I’ll finally be able to say out loud “I am pregnant”- and believe it. Maybe I’ll stop fearing the Gods noticing my happiness- and finally let myself be full with happiness and pie and a growing baby.