Pregnancy

The 3 Days I was Pregnant with Baby #3

 

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For anyone who knows me, you know I question if I want more kids. But before we decide on more kids, we at least need to know we can survive toddlerhood. Having two toddlers at home has created more than enough chaos for me to handle. And honestly, I am not handling it very well.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I took a pregnancy test and it came back positive. My Husband and I barely have enough time to even be in the same room together let alone enough time to make a baby. But apparently, we did. And I, completely in shock, was expecting baby number three.

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We left for camping with the in-laws the next day. But first I ran to the corner drug store to get another test to confirm. Positive. It was finally sinking in. I had run through a string of emotions in a day.

Anger.

Mostly at myself, because how could I not know I was pregnant? And how could I get pregnant? When was the last time we even had sex?

Frustration.

I just finished my Master’s degree and am job searching. And while I know it’s illegal for places to discriminate against pregnancy, I also know that pregnancy makes potential jobs see me as a “less-serious candidate” even though this is far from the truth.

Worry.

We are barely surviving with two. I don’t sleep. I’m not a perfect mom. My house is disgusting. Tempest hulk throws her mattress. And both the girls can’t stop moving furniture around. How would we survive with another?

Guilt.

My children already don’t seem to get enough attention. For my poor baby, Alice, that would mean being demoted to the middle child. And Tempest is already super jealous and feels abandon most of the time.

Excitement.

Most of all, I feel excitement. I always said I wanted a lot of kids. And while I’m happy with both the girls, I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy every time a friend of mine announces their pregnancy.

I was still processing it all. Day one of our camping trip, morning sickness kicked in. Actually, I had been nauseous for about a week on and off, but this was bad. And on top of it I was suffering from a serious migraine, probably from caffeine withdrawal (I’m a serious caffeine-a-holic). But I remembered this. I knew it sucked, but it is worth it.

My husband and I talked throughout the weekend about little things, like when we look for a new car how we will have to find one to fit 3 car seats (seriously, 3 car seats, is that possible?!). We talked about waiting to tell Facebook because of my job search. And we joked about all the pregnancy fun to come.

The day after we got home, I started bleeding. It came full force. There was no question; it wasn’t just a little spotting or all the “it’s normal, don’t worry” type bleeding. No, this was a full period.

I knew what this meant. We all know what this meant. Just a few short days after having my entire world thrown upside down with news of a baby, my world was flipped once more that no, in fact, there wouldn’t be. I was miscarrying.

Miscarrying is a dirty word. When we type it on message boards we have to put the word “trigger” in front of it because the word itself is so awful. And we don’t talk about it. What’s worse is that women are made to feel ashamed and embarrassed that they are upset. I wasn’t very far along, only around 9 weeks. And I know the chances of miscarrying are extremely high. But I was, am, still deeply hurt by this miscarriage.

I didn’t even want another baby right now. I wasn’t sure I wanted another baby ever. But, I’m hurt. And trying very hard to act normal, like everything is the same. Because no one knew. We didn’t know long enough to tell people. Our society tells us we shouldn’t tell people right away because something might happen. And, of course, we wouldn’t want to talk about something happening.

I got on message boards to find out when I could officially call this pregnancy over. Mostly, because if I’m not having a baby I’m going to drown my sleep deprivation and sorrows in caffeine and alcohol. But instead what I find is a lot of false hope. Hundreds of posts about women who bled during pregnancy and came out with kids. Thousands of women telling their stories and telling the original posters not to give up hope, that there still might be a chance. But that isn’t the reality, is it? Estimates say one in three pregnancies will end in miscarriage, most within the first few weeks. But instead of focusing on consoling each other we talk about the miracles. We talk about not giving up. And while I get it. Hope is good. And there is a chance. The truth is, I don’t want hope. I don’t want to hold on a few more days. I’m grieving now and I want to get through it and move on from it.

I don’t feel validated in feeling sad about this. Instead, I watch my children play and promise myself that I’ll get at least one thing done on my to-do list. I talk to my mom on the phone and I listen to her business plans and grievances. I don’t tell her about the miscarriage. Not because I don’t think she would be sympathetic. I know she would. But because I’m not sure I want sympathy. It doesn’t help for people to feel pity for me. I just mostly want to be left alone to process. I want things back to normal. Back to the crazy hectic life I love. To the children who drive me crazy with their fighting and where I can’t imagine how another would fit in right now. But now, with the realization, that I’m okay with how things are, but I’m also okay if we do end up pregnant again. Mostly, I am okay.

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